


Washington Square

by visiblemarket



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, And perhaps more, Background Snap/Karé, Black Squadron - Freeform, Flawed Characters Trying Their Best, M/M, Nines - Freeform, PHASMA - Freeform, Rey - Freeform, ambiguous background cheating, ambiguous/offscreen dubcon, cameos by several characters including:, iolo arana - Freeform, mentions of homophobia and racism, past/background finn/rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-16 01:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: Poe Dameron's a pretty average sort of guy: he's got a dog he loves and a roommate he kind of hates, a job he's worried about losing, a history of complicated relationships, and friends who are more worried about his romantic prospects than he is. Maybe thelastthing he needs is for a famous, beautiful movie star to walk into his store and into his life, but then again -- when has life ever really given him what he needed?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete and I'll be posting a chapter a day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What’s your name?” says Finn, uncapping the sharpie._
> 
> _“Elizabeth — Liz,” she says, and Poe rolls his eyes._
> 
> _Finn shakes his head, scribbling thoughtlessly across the front of the magazine, which features a slightly over-saturated picture of him in a white suit, casually riding an old-fashioned bicycle._
> 
> _“What’s it say?” definitely Liz asks, once he's finished._
> 
> _“'Dear Liz nee Kayla: shoplifting is a crime. Cheers, Finn,’” Finn recites, and hands it over to her._

COMING THIS FALL, screams the billboard above the subway entrance, in not-quite fluorescent blue letters that are still somehow reminiscent of _Tron_. AMADI AND KINGSLEY, across the bottom. The rest of the poster is a futuristic kind of grey, the image of a long corridor with a frosted glass door beyond, with the words THURSDAY NEXT scrawled across.

Poe crosses the street, taking a moment to wonder if he’ll watch that — the poster’s annoyingly minimalist and thus coy about the plot, which he hates. But he’s heard the cast is good and he’s not categorically against sci fi or anything, no matter what Ben — sorry, _Kylo_ , he chides himself, swallowing a smile — might have to say about it. He just likes _good_ sci fi and y’know, that’s where they differ.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket — thank god it’s getting cool enough again to wear one — and turns the corner to Bleecker Street. The shop’s already open, which he shouldn’t be surprised about: It’s not like he doesn’t trust Oddy to open up, or anything, it’s just that he doesn’t trust _anyone_ to open up, except for him, so it’s still taking him some time to get used to it.

The bell rings as he steps inside, and Oddy jerks up from whatever he was reading. “Hey boss!” he says, and Poe gives an awkward kind of wave — he’s still not sold on the boss thing either, but every time he’s brought it up Oddy’s promised to stop and gone right back to it the next day. At this stage in his life, Poe’s learned to pick his battles.

Mostly.

“Mornin’,” he says. “How’re we doing?"

“Couple of magnets,” Oddy says, gesturing at the spinning display by the register. “And a notebook."

Well, given that they’re a niche bookstore focusing on New York specific works and authors, not stellar, but could be worse. And it’s early — only 10 in the morning — so the full force of tourists and NYU students killing time before classes hasn’t hit yet.

“Great!” Poe says, brightly, and makes the effort to bound cheerfully into the back office. “Let me know when you wanna go on break!” he calls out, over his shoulder. _I’ll figuring out how much of a dent a couple of magnets and a notebook are gonna make in our overhead_ , he doesn’t say, but well: it’s implied.

*

Oddy goes to lunch at noon — by which point he’s rung up a couple of Baldwin collections, a Willa Cather, and the perennial _Catcher in the Rye'_ s. Poe settles in at the counter, playing with ring on the chain around his neck and lazily working through a crossword puzzle as he considers his own lunch options.

The bell above the door jingles again: a blond teenage girl in a striped sweater and corduroy skirt who doesn’t quite meet his eyes slips through. She’s on her phone, though, so Poe decides to believe in the better angels of her nature and not be inordinately suspicious.

Poe’s fiddling with the pen in his hand and trying very hard not to watch her from the corner of his eye when the door jingles again.

He looks up.

Drops his pen.

Drops his gaze, panicked.

Leans down, to pick up his pen, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Looks up again — yep. Yep. Behind those dark sunglasses, in that fitted light blue henley and khaki pants, Finn Amadi — of COMING THIS SUMMER: THURSDAY NEXT fame, Poe thinks, a little hysterically — is standing in the middle of his shop.

Well, less the middle, more the left hand corner, browsing the periodicals.

“Can I—“ he squeaks, and then shakes his head. No. No, fuck, he’s a New Yorker — sort of, anyway — New Yorkers aren’t supposed to give a fuck. The president could walk into his shop and he’d — well, he’d throw him out, but that’s not a representative case. _Get it_ together _, Dameron_ , he thinks, and clears his throat. “Can I help you find anything?” he says, impressively smooth, hoping Finn — FINN AMADI, whose face is plastered on at least four of the magazines he’s currently standing in front of — hadn’t noticed the whole dropped pen, wide-eyed, head-shaking panic of before.

Finn shakes his head. “Just looking,” he says, accent a bit of a surprise — he’s played American in everything Poe’s ever seen him in, which is really on Poe more than anything — but a delightful one. Not that Poe gets particularly a-flutter over an English accent generally, but on Finn, it works.

“Cool,” Poe says, trying to project it. “Well, if you need — “ a flicker of movement catches his attention, and he stifles a groan. “Excuse me a second,” he says to Finn, who clearly does not care.

“Hey,” he says, to the girl — she looks up at him, a little wary. “What’s your name?"

“Kay……la?” she offers.

Poe doubts it. “Okay,” he says. “Well, I’m Poe."

“O…kay…"

“Okay, see: here’s thing: I really don’t love it when customers shove _111 Places in New York That You Must Not Miss_ down their shirt before buying them. Or any book, honestly."

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, sticking her chin out.

“Sure,” he says. “Sure, well. I mean, I’m not going to call you a liar, Kay….la. But there’s two options, here, right? I call the police, and have them sort it out, or—"

“Or?"

“You can take the book out from under your shirt, bring it up to the counter and buy it, or at the _very_ least put it back, and then we can like — call that a day,” he shrugs. “But that’s, y’know — totally your call."

She gives him a look — teenage apathy, with a glimmer of concern peaking through.

“Well, I’ll be up front, for when you decide."

He makes his way back to the counter. Finn’s turned away from the magazines and opens his mouth.

“Holy _shit_ , you’re Finn Amadi!”

Poe jumps. Allegedly Kayla, blue book in hand, is full-on gawking at Finn, who looks supremely uncomfortable, and nods.

“Can I get a picture?”

Finn make a strange, huffing sound — maybe a laugh? — and nods again. She walks up to him and leans into his side, then holds up her phone. Per the shutter sound, she takes at least five pictures, rotating through a variety of expressions while Finn smiles tightly. When she’s done, she looks at the magazine rack and pulls out the latest issue of GQ. “Will you sign this for me?"

“Once you pay for it,” Finn says, and she squeals with excitement and rushes to the counter. Finn follows her up, patting nervously at his coat and pants. Poe pulls a sharpie from the pen mug next to the register and hands it over to him. Rings up maybe-Kayla, who shoves a twenty hastily into his grip and doesn’t even seem to care about her change. Poe puts it down on the counter anyway.

“What’s your name?” says Finn, uncapping the sharpie.

“Elizabeth — Liz,” she says, and Poe rolls his eyes.

Finn shakes his head, scribbling thoughtlessly across the front of the magazine, which features a slightly over-saturated picture of him in a white suit, casually riding an old-fashioned bicycle.

“What’s it say?” definitely Liz asks, once he's finished.

“'Dear Liz _nee_ Kayla: shoplifting is a crime. Cheers, Finn,’” Finn recites, and hands it over to her.

“Cool! Hey, you want my number or something?” she says.

Finn blinks. Looks at Poe, for some reason. Poe has nothing to offer there but bafflement, so he shrugs.

“I think I’ll pass,” Finn says, and Liz nods.

“Cool. Cool. Great to—good to meet you,” she says, and bolts for the door. Leaving her book, magazine, and change behind.

Finn raises his eyebrows over his sunglasses. Poe shakes his head, and puts everything into a clear plastic bag.

A moment passes, and then she slinks back. Nods at Finn, blushing furiously, and grabs the bag out of Poe’s hand without looking at him once. And then runs, again, out of the shop, and booking it — hah — up the street.

Finn shakes his head, and approaches the counter with two books of his own — _If Beale Street Could Talk_ , and _The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes_.

“I wouldn’t’ve called the police,” Poe says. Finn raises his eyebrows again.

“What?"

“I mean — over one book, y’know. I wouldn’t’ve — "

“Even if she’d bolted?

“Probably,” Poe says. _Definitely_ , but there’s no point in saying that, now.

“Not exactly good business practice,” says Finn, dry.

Poe shrugs, scanning the barcodes of his books. “I’m not a very good businessman, I guess.” He doesn’t guess — he knows. Hence his persistent economic anxiety, particularly when it comes to hiring employees.

Finn smiles, and takes his sunglasses off. Poe can see the rich brown color of his eyes now, and has to work very hard indeed not to stare. Shoves the books into a clear plastic bag instead, and hands Finn a receipt to sign.

“It’s a good thing you’re not a very good businessman,” Finn says, with a smirk, as he hands it back. “Or else I’d worry ‘bout you selling this off on the internet."

“See,” Poe says, handing the bag over to him. “I never would’ve even thought of that."

Finn throws him a quick mock salute, and almost makes it to the door before Poe blurts out, “See you around.”

Finn turns back. Raises his eyebrows again.

“I mean…” Poe says, trying not to swallow his tongue. “I guess…not. But—Thanks for the— thank you for your business."

Finn gives him another long look, shakes his head, and winks, before turning around, opening the door, and disappearing into the too-bright half past noon sun.

Poe waits a full five minutes before sagging onto the stool and banging his forehead on the counter. He thinks he shows admirable restraint in that regard.  

 

 

 

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay fun fact _Notting Hill_ is a romcom classic that I have a lot of personal affection for, but it also has some sketchy shit going on in the background, especially when considered in a post #MeToo world. 
> 
> Additionally, when translated for a queer ship, based on two very specific characters who I have tried to _keep_ in character, other issues arise. As a queer woman of color I have attempted to explore these as honestly and frankly as I can, based on my own experiences and general world view, but no one's perfect and how successful I've been is obviously subjective. 
> 
> I say all this not to be a drag or to imply that this is a SERIOUS BUSINESS fic. I wrote this to be a fun little romantic comedy in the spirit of the original film, and I think I've mostly managed it, though it maybe ended up more on the romantic dramedy side of things. There is romance, there are jokes, there's cute dogs and feelings and conflicts and reconciliation. All's well that ends well, ultimately. 
> 
> But relationships are complicated and people are flawed and being a queer person of color in like, the world, can be tough, so it's not all going to be smooth sailing. If you have questions about specific issues tagged above, please feel free to send me a message on [tumblr](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/) and I'll do my best to explain further. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy reading this! I certainly (mostly) enjoyed writing it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Pricing waits for no man, not even a man who’s still questioning whether he’s just imagined an encounter with one of the most famous people he can think of._
> 
>  
> 
> _Which is maybe why he doesn’t bring it up with Oddy — it’s not like they talk a lot, but he knows how boring the shop can get, when there’s no customers around. He doesn’t want to be the kind of boss who hovers, but doesn’t want to be completely disconnected either. So he tries to dip in and out during the day, ask about his plans for the weekend, how his wife’s doing. Typical coworker stuff._
> 
> _I Just Met Hollywood’s Current Big Thing And Maybe Kind of Love Him Now is hardly typical water cooler conversation, though._

“What did I miss?” says Oddy, breezing into the shop with two coffee cups in hand.

Poe jolts up. “Nothing. Well — No, nothing. Foiled a shoplifter, y’know. Well — mostly just talked her out of it."

Oddy looks sort of impressed with him, but Oddy tends toward easily impressed; Poe isn’t going to let it go to his head.

Oddy hands him one of the coffee cups. Poe takes a sip. It’s from the place around the corner, with almond milk — he knows, _he knows_ — and sugar, just how he likes it. He’s strangely touched by the gesture, for all that maybe caffeine isn’t the best idea for him right now. “Thanks, man. How much do I owe you?"

Oddy attempts to wave him off, but Poe keeps shaking his head. “No, c’mon, Oddy, you —"

“Boss, it’s like three bucks, I think I can — "

“Don’t — just Poe’s fine, I — look, I’ll get the next one, okay?” he says, and Oddy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t object. Poe gives him another smile and vacates the counter, heading back to the office. Pricing waits for no man, not even a man who’s still questioning whether he’s just imagined an encounter with one of the most famous people he can think of.

Which is maybe why he doesn’t bring it up with Oddy — it’s not like they talk a lot, but he knows how boring the shop can get, when there’s no customers around. He doesn’t want to be the kind of boss who hovers, but doesn’t want to be completely disconnected either. So he tries to dip in and out during the day, ask about his plans for the weekend, how his wife’s doing. Typical coworker stuff.

I Just Met Hollywood’s Current Big Thing And Maybe Kind of Love Him Now is hardly typical water cooler conversation, though. Not that they have a water cooler. Though maybe they should. Maybe once he clears out the boxes of his niche curation efforts, they’ll have room for one.

“Hey, Oddy,” Poe says, sticking his head out from the back room. “You think we should get a water cooler?"

“What for?”

Poe shrugs. “Hydration?"

Oddy scrunches up his nose. “Maybe for the summer?"

So, couple months away. “I’ll put it on the list,” Poe says, and tries to quell the snarky little voice that whispers _if we’re still open by then_.

*

Three hours pass. Poe stickers his way through two new boxes full of books, does some light shelving, answers a couple of calls. It’s a quiet afternoon, but not the worst he’s had. By three-thirty, Oddy’s clearing his throat and delicately, gently reminding him he hasn’t had lunch yet.  

Poe groans, but concedes — he still feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin, and getting out can only help. Tells himself he’ll just get something small, a juice from the fancy new place two blocks away, maybe another for Oddy, to pay him back for the coffee. Grabs his coat and his wallet, pockets his phone, and goes.

It’s a glorious early fall day — warmer than this morning, but still with a crisp edge. The sky is a brilliant blue and the streets have that eager, scholastic bustle the neighborhood gets when school starts up again, not the sluggish damp trickle of high summer. It even smells nice — a flower stall here, a fruits stand there, a new bakery on the corner.

He gets his juice — ginger cucumber for him, some orange-pineapple-peach concoction for Oddy — and decides to take a quick stroll through the park. Maybe swing by the dog run, say hi to the regulars, even if he doesn’t quite have time to run back and grab BB8. Though hell, who knows, maybe he does.

Could spend the afternoon playing hooky, or at least bring BB8 by the shop and spend the rest of the day taking pictures of her among the books and posting them on the shop’s oft-neglected Facebook page. Oddy’s mildly allergic, which means he could ask him to go home, but somehow still offer to pay him the hours. Maybe if he — oh _fuck_ , he thinks, as he slams bodily, entirely, wetly (thanks to the two large fresh-pressed juices in each hand) into someone.

Well.

Not _someone_.

Into — oh, _fuck_ — into a very pissed looking Finn Amadi.

Not that Poe blames him for the very-pissed-looking thing — in addition to the green and orange streaks on his shirt and — _oh fuck_ — his very nice looking suede jacket and khaki pants, the collision was apparently enough to knock his sunglasses off, and send the bags he was carrying onto the pavement with them. Poe drops to his knees to recover what he can — Finn pushes his hands away and grabs the dark frames and plastic bags on his own, and they both scramble to their feet.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, let me —“ he reaches out, realizes he doesn’t have anything to wipe him off with — he's also managed to drop the tiny white napkins the juices came with.

“Just — just leave it, mate, I—“ Finn blinks. Looks at him for a moment, frowning. “Oh,” he says, strangely. “It’s you."

“I— yeah — god, look, let me just —“ he waves vaguely at Finn’s shirt. “Look, I live like, right around the corner, let me at least help you clean that up, or like, I’ve got a spare — a lot of spare clothes, I mean, not like a _lot_ , but could definitely lend—"

“You don’t have to—"

“I want to, it’s fine, please let me just —"

Finn sighs. “How close?"

Poe turns around, pointing at the row of brownstones across the street and about half a block away. “The one with the rainbow flag out front," he says, suddenly, awkwardly aware that it’s been up for more than three month pasts Pride. It's not quite the same thing as having your Christmas lights still up well into March, but still.

Finn raises his eyebrows. _Lead the way_ , he gestures, and Poe does, crossing in the middle of the street like an idiot. Finn follows warily, but keeps close as Poe jogs up the stairs and opens the door.

“I uh — I’ve got a dog, sorry, she’s friendly, just —“ Poe reaches out, grabs hold of BB8’s collar before she manages to dart out the door. Drags her back and waves Finn through.

Finn's looking steadily more concerned about the situation — Poe can't say he blames him — but steps inside and closes the door behind him anyway.

“Let me…” Poe says, offering to take the bags he’s carrying, but to do so he has to let go of BB8, who goes wild with excitement, wiggling rapturously at Finn until Finn gives her a cautious, quick pet, at which point she flops happily at Finn’s feet. “She likes you,” Poe says, weakly.

Finn huffs incredulously, but offers BB8 another quick stroke before stepping over her. Poe nods, leading him through the hall toward the bathroom. Drops Finn’s bags onto the kitchen table as he goes, waving Finn forward as he ducks into the laundry room to grab the closest shirt and pants he can find and reasonably assume to be clean: an old pair of jeans and a souvenir t-shirt from Bear Mountain, as it turns out. A far cry from the understated but obvious quality of the clothes Finn is currently wearing and which Poe has almost definitely ruined, but Finn takes that in stride, slipping into the bathroom with a quick nod of thanks.

While he’s in there, Poe checks the hall closet, grabs blindly at the first jacket in reach.

“Hey?” he hears Finn call out, and darts back, tucking the leather jacket over his arm.

“What’s up?” he says, though automatically realizes — BB8’s settled in front of the bathroom door, gazing up at Finn adoringly, but also blocking the way out.

“Bee Bee!” Poe scolds, and waves her off. “In your crate!”

BB8 gives him a long, sad look, but does as she’s told, slinking past and up the stairs. “Sorry,” Poe says, handing over the jacket and trying very hard not to stare.

Finn’s not just wearing Poe’s clothes, he’s _wearing_ Poe’s clothes: his thighs fill out Poe’s jeans like they were made to do so, and his biceps are thick and firm and glorious, peeking out from the short sleeves of Poe’s t-shirt. He’s folded up his sunglasses and hung them from collar of his shirt, and as he slips his arms through the jacket Poe’s offered him, Poe’s mouth goes dry.

He turns around quickly, reminding himself to swallow. “I uh—“ he glances back. “I—"

“Where are we again?” Finn says, not looking at him — looking at his phone, actually, and that’s a relief. Poe rattles off his address, and Finn texts it to someone, apparently.

“My agent’s sending a car,” he says, as he reaches back into the bathroom to grab the ruined clothes that he’s neatly folded up.

“Let me get you a bag,” says Poe, embarrassed again, and tries not to dart back down the hall to the kitchen.

“Nice place, this,” Finn says, casual, conversational, not at all like a man who’s going to demand Poe pay to have his clothes cleaned after, y’know, ruining them. “Must be a better businessman than you think."

“Hah,” Poe says, rummaging in the plastic bag pile. Pulls one out, and turns back around. “It’s my roommate’s…well, my roommate’s mom’s place. I just — live here. Make sure he eats regularly and doesn’t like…burn the place down."

Finn gives him a vaguely curious look, which is too much for Poe to handle, so he pivots away, opens the refrigerator as fast as he can. “Can I…can I get you anything? Juice, or — “ he glances back; Finn’s narrowing his eyes at him. “Right. Not juice. Anything — we have some water? And, uh…” his eyes light a bundle of asparagus. “Asparagus? You could do that, uh, that ridiculous Whole Foods thing, with the bottle of water and the—“

Finn’s phone dings, thankfully, and Poe breathes a sigh of intense relief. “Car’s here?"

Finn nods, seemingly holding back a smile.

“Great,” Poe says. “Great, that was quick. I’ll — I’ll walk you out,” he says, as if the path to the door comprised of more than a straight shot down single hallway.

They reach the door, and Finn turns to look at him. “Right, well, I’ll send someone over to drop all this,” he says, gesturing at the clothes he’s now wearing. “Back to you."

“Oh, god, no — don’t worry about it,” Poe says, meaning it. “You can — honestly it all looks — so much better on you, so, y’know —“ he gives Finn a thumbs up, like a complete idiot, and then nods to himself. “Well it was — it was great to meet — to see you again."

“Right,” Finn says, _obviously_ holding back a smile this time, and nods once more before he goes out the door.

 _Fuck_ , Poe thinks, resisting the urge to bash his head against the wall. And then the doorbell rings, and he almost does it by accident.

“Oh,” he says, as he swings open the door and sees Finn again. “Hi?"

“Left my bags,” Finn says, and Poe jolts.

“Sure, yeah,” he says, and darts back toward the kitchen to retrieve them. By the time he returns, Finn’s made his way inside again, closed the door, and is playing with the frames of his glasses.

“Here you go,” Poe says, handing the bags over. “Again, sorry, I promise to —“ _look where I’m going_ , is what Poe means to say. What he actually says is nothing, because one moment he’s staring at Finn’s face, suddenly, viscerally aware of how close he is, and how soft his lips look, which is distracting enough, and then the next  — Finn kisses him.

And like — _really_ kisses him, right on the mouth, wrapping one arm around the back of Poe’s neck. Poe, partly still in shock, reciprocates almost automatically, slipping his arm under Finn’s — his — jacket and around Finn’s waist.

They stumble back, slamming into the hall table, but Finn just takes that as an opportunity to drop his bags onto it, knocking over a whole row of framed pictures, and use his now free hand to run his fingers through Poe’s hair. Poe has — zero complaints, about that, about the fact that there are now tongues involved, and quick, panted breaths between them as they switch angles and resume contact.

Then he hears the jangle of keys and — acting on instinct more than actual logical thought, because he’s currently incapable of that — he pushes Finn away.

“What—?" Finn says, wounded.

Poe has just enough to hold up one finger — _just give it a second_ , he means to say — and then the second is up. The door slams open. “Everything fucking _sucks,_ ” groans Kylo, taking the moment to hurl his shoulder bag down the hallway.

“What’s—“ Poe tries.

“Not fucking now!” he shouts, stalking through the hall, up the stairs, and slams the door to his room shut.

Silence falls. He hazards at glance at Finn, who’s looking — well. Slightly shell-shocked, with kiss swollen lips. Poe might just die on the spot.

But that, he’s sure, would be too easy. “Sorry about —“ he casts about. “Everything, I guess. I mean — Kylo’s kind of just —"

“What kind of name is—"

“Just don’t — just don’t worry about it,” Poe says, shaking his head, because it’s really not worth it. “And about the thing, at the store, and the juice—"

“The bit about the asparagus water was the worst of it, frankly."

“Right!” Poe says. “God, that was terrible, I — should definitely apologize for that.”

Finn looks at him expectantly, and Poe has to laugh. “And I do. I apologize for that. I just—“ he waves a hand between them. “Anyway,” he says, letting out a deep breath.

Finn does the same, staying resolutely on his side of the hall. Poe stifles a nervous laugh and reaches out, handing him the bags that’d been unceremoniously dropped on the hall table.

“Anyway,” Finn parrots, taking the bags. Glances at the door. “I should…."

“Yeah,” Poe says, going to open it. Is stopped, by Finn’s hand, light on his arm.

“Listen…” he starts, dropping his gaze. “You probably shouldn’t….tell anyone...about,” he waves a hand between them.

“Of course not,” Poe says, suddenly, desperately worried for him — runs through every fact he knows about Finn Amadi, if there’s ever been any hint about him online. It’s not like Poe’s got his finger on the pop culture pulse, but he’s sure he’d have heard about that. “I mean,” he says, trying to be funny. “Who’d believe me? Like it literally just happened, and I barely believe me, y’know?"

Finn laughs, a little, and looks up at him again. “Yeah,” he says. “Well. See you around?"

Poe huffs. Gives Finn a quick, silly salute. “See you around."

 

 

 

 

 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_hey this is poe_** , he texts, wavering on whether or not to capitalize — decides against it, wants to come off casual. **_dameron. from the bookshop_ ** , he adds, and then, cringing _._ **_and the juice_ **
> 
> barely five seconds pass before:
> 
> **_played it cool huh_ **
> 
> **_waiting 3 whole days 2 get back to me_ **
> 
> Poe has to laugh.  
>  **_finn_ **
> 
> **_i swear to god_ **
> 
> **_the last thing i will ever be is cool_ **

“I think this yogurt’s gone bad,” says Kylo, wandering back into the foyer as Poe continues to blink at the closed door.

_Did that really just—_

_Did_ he _really just —_  

 _Did_ I _really just —_

Poe blinks again. Turns back. Kylo's got a red plastic container in one of his hands and a metal spoon in his mouth. Poe sighs.

“That’s sour cream."

Kylo takes the spoon out of his mouth and stares at the container. “Huh,” he says. “You’re right.” And scoops out another spoonful, and slips it right back in his mouth.

Poe turns around. “I’m going back to the store,” he says, and gives a low whistle. BB8 gallops down the stairs and to his side.

*

It’s dark by the time Poe gets home. He’d sent Oddy to the bank to make a deposit and get some more change for the register, then closed up for the night. He’d still been too restless to head back to the brownstone, after, so he’d taken BB8 to the dog park and watched her run happy loops around the little dogs. Swung by Morton Williams after, for overpriced replacement sour cream.

By the time he gets home, he’s at least mostly back to earth: heads to the kitchen to put the sour cream away, listens as BB8 bounds up the stairs ahead of him. Ducks into the living room before he heads up, and regrets it — Kylo’s sprawled out on the couch, watching tv, bare feet on the coffee table. Poe doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes, just shakes his head and prepares to go to bed. But then he catches a glimpse at the screen, and sits down.

“What are you watching?"

“ _Black Mirror_."

“Is that—"

“Finn Amadi? Yeah, he’s a robot."

Poe blinks. Finn seems to be playing a 19th century British soldier, but from what he understands, _Black Mirror_ is just like that. It’s a good look, Poe thinks: Finn looks terrified, covered in sweat, but with a steely reserve in his eyes as he stalks — or is stalked by? — some sort of shadow creature in the woods.

Out of the corner of his eye, Poe sees Kylo looking at him. _Uh-oh_.

“He’s cute, right?” says Kylo, in that awkward possibly well-meaning but always embarrassing way he has when he’s trying to _relate_ to Poe.

“He’s okay,” says Poe, already planning his escape.

“You think he’s ever sucked a dick?"

“ _Jesus Christ, Ben!_ ”

Kylo laughs. “C’mon. You know everyone in Hollywood’s like, a little bit gay, right?"

“It doesn’t really work that way,” says Poe, standing up.

“No, oh come on, don’t be pissed! They’re all bi, or whatever. C’mon—"

“I’m going to bed."

“C’mon, I was just—"

“Good night, _Kylo,”_ Poe says, heading toward the door.

 _“_ Yeah, yeah. Don’t spend all night jerking it to your _boyfriend_."

Poe rolls his eyes and flips him off without turning around.

*

By Sunday, Poe’s life has resettled itself — go to work, worry about money, play with BB8. Friday dinner with Snap and Karé. Drink too much after Friday dinner with Snap and Karé, without explaining why he’s in _that_ mood. Drag self home Saturday morning, let Oddy open the shop and — wickedly, dangerously — sleep in for most of the day. Only show up after three in the afternoon to make sure the place hasn’t burnt down.

It hasn’t. Oddy’s done good business, even, slightly better than Saturdays usually go, which is already saying something because it’s usually their strongest day. Poe breathes a sigh of relief, buys him some of his favorite overpriced juice, and settles in with the credit card receipts.

Sunday morning, he does better — shows up on time, for one — and stays the day, reorganizing the children’s shelves, contemplating another window display. Flirts, once again, with the idea of queer history section: keeps meaning to set up but still can’t quite decide where to put it.

It’s a quiet day but he doesn’t mind. A light, icy rain begins to fall, a soft harbinger of fall to come, nuzzling customers off the streets and into the shop to wait out the weather. Poe considers, not for the first time, setting up a carafe of something warm and seasonal.

He leaves a little early — Oddy’s done a good enough job of opening the shop lately, Poe can probably trust him to close up — and heads home, hands in his pockets, eyes catching on the advertisements glowing on the cabs that whiz past him. 

The house smells like charred pizza when he walks through the door, and Poe sighs, working himself up to the repeat lecture on how to use the toaster oven.

“You have to—“

Kylo turns around, already scowling, and Poe stops short.

“What?” Kylo grouses, pulling impatiently at and getting peanut butter on the very familiar Bear Mountain shirt he’s stretching out.

“Why are you wearing that?” Poe says.

“I ran out of clothes."

“Yeah, that happens when you don’t do laundry, I mean — why are you wearing _that?_  Where did you get it?"

“Some guy dropped off a bunch of your stuff a few days ago, I figured you’d sent out for dry cleaning or something, but—"

“When?"

“Friday?"

“Did it — did it come with a note, or—"

Kylo shrugs. “I dunno."

Poe tries — very, very hard — not to scream. “Ok. Well. Where’s the rest of it?"

“Closet, I guess?"

Poe tries — not as hard — to walk, not run, to the door. Swings it open so hard it bounces off the wall and back, door knob hitting his hip, but he ignores that. Finds a plastic wrapped hanger bearing his jacket and the pair of pants Finn had borrowed, as well as a note stapled to the plastic.

 _Watch where you’re going next time_ , it says, with a phone number, and then a dash and the initials F.A.

Poe takes a breath. Whips out his phone.

 **_hey this is poe_** , he texts, wavering on whether or not to capitalize — decides against it, wants to come off casual. **_dameron. from the bookshop_** , he adds, and then, cringing _._ **_and the juice_ **

barely five seconds pass before:

**_played it cool huh_ **

**_waiting 3 whole days 2 get back to me_ **

Poe has to laugh.

**_finn_ **

**_i swear to god_ **

**_the last thing i will ever be is cool_ **

A moment passes and then the sunglass emoji appears. Poe lets out a breath of relief, and then continues:

 **_kylo just forgot to give me your note_ ,**he types, perhaps too quickly.

 **_no worries,_** comes the response, almost instantly, and Poe smiles to himself a little. **_free tomorrow?_ **

Poe sits down, hard. On the hardwood floor, half in and half out of the closet. _Ironic,_  he thinks to himself, and blinks.

 **_Probably_** , he types, though the answer is _definitely_ , since the shop’s closed on Mondays and he has no life. **_Why_ **?

**_im @ the Crosby St if u wanna come by_ **

Poe lets his head fall back against the wall. Has to work to steady his breath as his mind races — speculating,  fantasizing. His cock twitches against his jeans and he groans to himself — _embarrassing,_ pointless, is he really _this_ hard up? it’s been a while, but jeez.

 _Deep breath, Dameron,_  he thinks to himself.

 **_What time?_ ** he offers.

**_after 5?_ **

Not prime bootycall hours, then. So this is not — that. Poe swallows. “Sure,” he says, out loud, and then types it out. Presses send. Waits.

 _i **m in the meadow suite,**_  finn texts, and adds a weird, eye-rolling emoji Poe doesn’t fully understand, but has to laugh at.

**_see you then_**

*

The Crosby Street Hotel is on Crosby Street — obviously —  and a walk from the shop, but not a long one: only about fifteen minutes, which in theory is enough for Poe to _get it together_ , but in practice ends up being just long enough to work himself into totally respectable frenzy of self-doubt and regret of every choice that's brought him to this moment.

He’s wearing the jacket Finn sent back to him — it’s a touch too warm for it, frankly, or maybe that’s just Poe — and, for some entirely mysterious reason, carrying a box of chocolates.

It’d seemed a good enough idea at the time, to duck into Li-Lac on the way to the hotel and buy a selection. But now, carrying a box under his arm and feeling the sweat trickling down his neck as he walks past the probably very expensive black statue that looks more like a buttplug than it probably should, then into the aggressively hip hotel lobby, he feels more than a little foolish.

_Deep breaths, Dameron._

“Can I help you?” says the woman at the front desk, politely distant, as Poe approaches.

“I’m, uh…Poe Dameron? Here to see—uh, Meadow Room?"

She glances down a clipboard, finger running down a long list of names. “Poe Dameron? Oh, there you are. Poe Dameron,” she says again, and looks up at him, smirkingly conspiratorial. “Running a little late, huh?”

Poe checks his watch — he’s not, but it seems pointless to say so, so he just smiles back. “Yeah, uh...Meadow Room?"

“Yep, fourth floor,” she says, waving toward the elevator. “I’ll call up and let them know you’re here."

“Thanks,” Poe says, wondering if he could take the stairs instead — anything to displace more of his nervous energy, but now he’s worrying about whether he looks sweaty and out of breath, and whether that’s why it seems like he’s late.

He inhales.

Exhales.

Takes off his jacket, folds it up under his arm, and takes the elevator.

*

The fourth floor is as lushly decorated as the lobby, this time in deep red wallpaper with black velvet victorian curlicues. Poe can’t quite decide whether it’s cosy or suffocating, especially not in the time it takes to walk to the Meadow Suite.

The door swings open before he even knocks, and a tan, red-haired guy with nervous blue eyes — younger than him, closer to Finn’s age, he’d guess — gives him a quick, nervous nod and practically drags him inside. “Hey, sorry, I’m Todd, it’s all right, we’re all running a bit late, come on in, here’s the—“ he rambles in brisk English accent as he guides Poe through a hallway that smells rather pleasantly of cedar. “Did you like the film?"

Poe blinks. “Yes,” seems to be the right answer. It earns him a nod as Todd thrusts a packet of slick, glossy papers at him. Poe manages to read _Thursday Next_ the cover before being gently shoved past a set of gorgeous wood doors. 

Todd’s parting words are “You get five minutes,” which Poe barely registers as he takes a quick, desperate look around. It’s the living room of the suite, apparently, with soft grey walls and much more tasteful furniture than Poe’d maybe been expecting — he kind of even likes the green, purple, and yellow striped chairs and sofa — and a large _Thursday Next_ poster propped up on a stand.

Also, Finn, turning away from the window and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Poe says, a little stunned — Finn’s wearing a black, v-neck shirt and dark blue jeans, and looks immediately, infinitely better than Poe, who took an unprecedented amount of time selecting the  faded blue sweater and khakis that had not seemed quite as boring before as they unquestionably are now.

“Hey,” says Finn, walking over to him. “Sorry about this, we’ve been doing press all morning, didn’t think it’d last — didn’t think we’d still be going, but I’ve got a— few to go, and I had to tell my manager you were a reporter to even get her to let—“ Finn takes a breath. “Anyway. Hello."

He’s maybe three feet away from Poe, who finds himself wanting to give into the rising hysteria and laugh. He swallows instead. “What magazine?”

“What?"

“What magazine did you say I’m working for? Just to— just to get my story straight."

“Ah,” Finn says, and drops his gaze. “Buzzfeed, I think?" 

“Okay,” Poe says, nodding. “I can work with that, actually."

Finn cocks his head at him, smiling a little. “Yeah?"

“Yeah, I…uh, I know someone who works there, actually. We were at the Academy together — Air Force Academy, I mean. Not that you — not that you need to know all that, I guess."

“No, it’s...it’s all right. You were in the Air Force?” Finn says, taking another small, curious step toward him.

“Oh, I mean — “ Poe does something with his hands even he can’t explain, a vague, backwards-waving gesture. “It was ages ago, like a literal _lifetime_ ago, I — Yeah.” He stops himself, and looks at Finn, who’s smiling.

“Are those for me?” he says, nodding toward Poe’s hip.

“What?” Poe looks down, and cringes. “Ah. Yeah, it was — it was on my way,” he says, handing over the chocolates. “Thought I — I mean I owed you, I guess. After the — you know, the juice….thing…."

Finn takes them with a quick grin. “Well, not about to say no to chocolates, am I?” he says, and walks over to a side table and puts them down next to a pitcher of water and some glasses. “Can I—"

The door opens, and Finn jolts. Poe doesn’t, but after seeing the tall, solid woman with a crisp helmet of short blonde hair who walks in, he can understand the impulse. She’s dressed in an sharp set of grey trousers and a waistcoat with nothing underneath, and she looks at Poe — who’s feeling more and more underdressed by the second — with an icy professionalism bordering on hostility.

“How’s it going in here?” she says — another English accent, this one bordering on clipped posh parody.

“Great,” Poe says, and Finn nods. “We’re uh — getting some great stuff."

“Poe Dameron, from….” she purses her lips. “ _Buzzfeed_?"

“That’s me!” he says, a little too chipper.

“No cameraman,” she states, though it’s clearly a question.

“No, well, we’re doing a more — one and one, kind of thing, much more personal kind of….” Poe bullshits, and darts a glance at Finn, who’s clearly holding back a smile. He widens his eyes a little — _you gonna help me out here, buddy?_ he broadcasts, as hard as he can.

Finn raises his eyebrows. _Looks like you’ve got this one_.

Poe resists the urge to roll his eyes. The woman looks...unconvinced. But she just narrows her eyes for a moment, shakes her head, and glances over at Finn.

Taps her bare wrist. “Five minutes,” she says.

Finn nods. “Right." 

She exits, throwing Poe another incredibly dubious look.

The door’s barely closed behind her before Finn snorts, covering his face. “Christ."

Poe huffs, and walks over to him. Drops his jacket over the back of a chair. “Oh, yeah, thanks for the assist, there, buddy."

Finn giggles. It’s — very cute, and Poe can’t even muster up the fake outrage he wants to project, and just kind of grins back.

“Was that your manager?"

“Yeah, that was The Captain."

Poe raises his eyebrows and Finn laughs again, ducking his head. “Sorry, yeah, that’s what me and my—friend. Call her. Best in the business, just kinda—"

“Mm, yeah, I think more than kinda,” Poe says, and pours himself a glass of water. “What’s in five minutes?” he says.

“Next interview. RealTV, I think?”

“Ah,” says Poe, as if he’s ever heard of RealTV — maybe it's ReelTV? — and takes a sip of water. “So I should go?"

“You should —“ Finn winces, shakes his head. “Can you wait? I’ve got — maybe two more of these, if you can — if you want."

“I can wait,” Poe says, and shuts his mouth tight, before anything like _it’s not like I have anything else to do_ can sneak out.

*

 _I can wait,_  true to form, turns into Poe being shuffled into one of the other suites by the ever-rushing Todd before he can get out an _um, actually_...

There, he’s confronted with Roni Jackson, a purple-and-red haired tween with the posture and confidence of a society matron giving the grand tour of her lavish country estate.

Roni is twelve years old, plays a murderous child robot, uses they/them pronouns, has never been in a movie before, and has over fourteen thousand youtube subscribers.

Poe has never heard of them.

But he’ll admit, Roni’s an easier interview than Finn — all Poe has to do is ask is what their inspiration for the role, then hold out his phone as they detail their inspiration from old Classic Performances, such as Kirsten Dunst in _Interview With A Vampire_ and Haley Joel Osment in _AI._

Poe has literally never felt older in his life.

*

“I was just —"

“No, no, no,” Todd says, dragging him to yet another room. "Pablo del Sol is incredibly excited to speak with you,” he monotones, and well, how can Poe say no to such insincere flattery.

Pablo del Sol is, to be fair, at least verygood at acting like he _is_ very excited to speak to Poe. He is a very good actor — Poe’s seen him in a few things, an Iñárritu or two, a few bit parts in Hollywood movies as an interchangeable foreigner. He’s also incredibly handsome, with that distinguished grey hair and perfect square jaw, and he certainly gives off a….vibe…. Poe’s not entirely unfamiliar with, though as far as Poe knows, he's not out. Not that Poe has a problem with that, categorically. But his strong yet soft spoken vibe has always reminded Poe of his father, so that’s a non-starter.

He seems charmed by Poe’s sadly rusty Spanish. Poe is more than a little charmed himself, listening as the man describes the best places to see a movie in Mexico City and where to get dinner after, watching as his broad hands drift through the air while giving precise directions.

Poe manages to resist the urge to cup his chin in his hands as he just stares, but can’t stop himself from flushing bright red when they shake hands goodbye.

*

“I’d take you by to see Ms. Kingsley, but she’s popped back to England for the duration, something about a family emergency."

“No worries!” says Poe, sounding maybe a little too excited about it. “Maybe we could set up a — Skype interview?” he offers, weakly, and Todd is polite enough to pretend that’s a totally normal thing to suggest as he walks Poe back toward the elevator.

Goes to press the down button, but then puts a finger to his ear — a bluetooth earpiece, Poe realizes — and nods. “Right. Up, then. Finn wants to clarify something with you."

“Oh. I mean, okay?” Poe says, feigning a bit of annoyance.

Todd chuckles, a little sheepishly. “I feel ya', mate,” he says, in a conspiratorial tone, and Poe enjoys a strange bit of kinship with him, as they ride up to the fourth floor.

Finn’s sitting down, rubbing the back of his neck again, staring at his shoes as his manager runs down what sounds like his schedule for the rest of the week. Poe tries not to eavesdrop, but hears something about Colbert and Fallon and the Condé Nast building.

“Oh,” says the blonde, when she notices Poe and Todd are back. “Mr. Dameron. What are you—"

“I just wanted to add something,” Finn says, raising his head.

She looks between them, eyes narrowed again, and then shakes her head. “Nines!” she snaps, and Todd jumps to attention.

“Yes, ma’am?"

“Come with me,” she says, ominous, and all but snaps her fingers at him as they exit.

Poe doesn’t watch her go — can’t take his eyes off Finn, who’s looking tired but softer for it. Poe wants to hug him, for some reason.

Well. For some reason, beyond the obvious.

Finn rises from the chair he’s sitting in, and smiles. Poe smiles back, sticking is hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Why does she call him Nines?"

“Hmm?"

“Todd. Why does she call him Nines?"

“Ah. He’s the ninth assistant she’s had this year."

“Oh,” Poe says, because what else can you do.

Finn chuckles to himself a little, and approaches. Taps his hand nervously against the plushly upholstered chair next to Poe, and avoids his eyes.

“I just wanted to apologize."

“You don’t have to — I told you, I’m good with waiting."

Finn looks up at him. His eyes are dark chocolate brown, bright in a way Poe can’t look away from. Doesn’t have to, in the end — Finn drops his gaze again, goes back to tapping at the chair.

“Nah, I meant with the—“ Finn says, waving a hand between them. “Last week."

 _Oh,_  Poe thinks. “For the —“ he says, executing a vague gesture toward this mouth, though he knows Finn can’t see him. It wasn’t that he’d quite forgotten, but it’d seemed like a dream — still seems like a dream. One that no one would believe, especially him.

He’s kissed this man — he’s had this man’s tongue in his mouth — and he truly barely knows him.  

Finn nods, quick and tight and nervous. “I shouldn’t’ve— I mean, I should — should’ve asked, yeah?"

Poe hesitates. “It’s okay,” he offers, weakly, and Finn sighs.

“No, I should’ve. And it’s…it wouldn’t look great. Finn Amadi, running about kissing strange men without askin’."

“The without asking part or the strange…men part?” Poe says.

Finn winces. “Both.”

Poe nods, though he suspects it’s surely more one than the other. “I haven’t told anyone,” he says, lowering his voice. “You don’t have to worry about that. I won’t tell anyone."

Finn looks up, turns toward him. “I was just — curious. I’ve never —"

“With a guy?” Poe says, like a fool, like he didn’t already suspect it.

Finn nods again, fingers gripping the side of the chair so tightly Poe worries they’ll leave dents in the upholstery.

“Hey,” Poe says. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna tell anyone. And it doesn’t mean — it doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to."

Finn looks up at him again. “It means what it means,” he says, flat.

Poe’s even less sure of how to react to that, but he thinks he understands: Finn’s young, just starting out, and already has one major strike against him, at least as far as Hollywood’s concerned. Poe can only imagine how much pressure he’s under.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he says, again, meaning it: Finn’s sexuality, and when and whether he decides to embrace it, is absolutely none of his business. Finn still looks — vaguely queasy, and Poe wants nothing more than to comfort him. Reaches out, rests his hand on Finn’s arm, and gives it a squeeze.  “Do you— do you want to talk about it?"

Finn looks up at him, head cocked again — staring at him, maybe a touch too intense. Not like before — not like when they’d kissed.

Poe’s not sure what to make of that look: he’s not an idiot, it’s not like he doesn’t know the kind of attention he attracts, what people usually see what they look at him — it’s usually more embarrassing than anything, and tends to wear off once they get to know him, one way or another.

But Finn just looks — _curious_ , more than anything. Like he’s trying to figure something out. Poe can’t really imagine what.  

“Can I buy you dinner?”

Poe blinks again. “You don’t have to…buy me dinner, Finn."

“I want to, though. If that’s all right."

“I…” Poe takes a breath. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

It’s a horrible idea — Poe knows it, deep in his gut, for reasons he can’t quite explain beyond the fact that it’s liable to end badly, and Poe has had more than his fair share of bad endings. Vaguely wishes he was as good at avoiding them as he is at seeing them coming.

Finn takes a step back. Nods to himself. Nods at Poe. Ducks his head, probably to stop himself from nodding again. “Right,” he says, taking another step back. “Right, I was just thinkin’—"

“When?"

Finn freezes, mid sentence. Smiles, quick and uncertain, but then swallows it. “Tonight? No, wait I’ve got—something, Christ, I’ve got…"

“Condé Nast?” Poe offers.

“Right, Condé Nast. Tomorrow? Shop closes, what, five thirty? After that, then?"

Poe finds himself nodding before he remembers. “Wait, no. I’ve got — oh, jeez. I’ve got this — I’ve got this party, it’s my friend’s birthday, I said I’d—after that, maybe? I mean, she works early, we won’t be there past nine, I can swing back to—"

“Or I could,” Finn jumps in, and then seems to catch himself, slows down. "I could go with you."

Poe raises his eyebrows. “You want to — you want to come to my friend’s birthday party?"

“If that’s — if that’s all right?” he says, looking — more than a little embarrassed. He soldiers through. “As a friend, you know."

Poe has to laugh, shaking his head. “I mean...I mean, yeah. Yeah, sure. Why not?"

A million reasons, obviously, but Finn grins at him, and Poe can’t seriously recall a single one.

 

 

 

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I have bad luck," he says, and puts the jug back, not quite ready to look Finn in the face. This is a much heavier conversation than he'd expected to be having, for one, and for another, it's neither Finn's business nor Finn's problem._
> 
> _He looks up again. Finn is giving him another of those intense, searching looks he's apparently decided to make a habit of, when it comes to Poe._
> 
> _"With men?" he says, once Poe meets his eyes._
> 
> _"With men," Poe affirms, and Finn gives him a quick, lopsided smile and brings his glass down to clink against Poe's._
> 
> _"To better luck, then," Finn says, and takes another sip._

“You’re  _bringing_ someone?” Karé says, and Poe rolls his eyes, as he hears her relay that same information to Snap, who’s apparently on the other side of town given how loudly she does it.

“You don’t have to sound so…surprised about it,” he mumbles, half-hoping she’s too busy cackling to hear him.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. I’m Too Busy To Look For Anything Serious, I am actually entitled to be at least  _forty_ percent more surprised that I am."

“I’m not too busy to look for anything serious…"

“Okay, right, too busy to look for  _anything_.”

Poe sighs. “Whatever. And it’s not —  _someone_. I mean it’s a — it’s a guy."

“Yes, Poe, we all know that — "

“Would you just — look. He’s just a guy. That I’m friends with. He’s from out of town, he wants to just hang out, it’s not —“ god, he shouldn’t’ve even called, now it’s all going to be an even  _bigger_ deal but…"It’s not a thing, okay? It’s just — a friend."

“A friend,” she says, dryly. Then, muffled, as if a hand has been placed over the microphone — “ _He says it’s just a friend!”_

Snap says something Poe can’t hear, and Poe wants to groan in frustration.

 _“_ Just put me on speaker already!” he says instead, and Karé snorts, but does.

“Hey buddy!” calls Snap. “What’s your guy’s name?"

“He’s not —" No, he’s not going to engage. “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Oh, an international man of mystery _,_ huh?”

Yeah, Poe walked into that one. He resists the urge to smack his against the counter somewhere between four or ten times. “Just — guys, I swear to god, just be cool tomorrow, okay."

“When are we not  _cool_?” Snap says, indignant. “Oh,  _shit_ , K, — is lamb supposed to smell like that?"

“Snap, exactly how much do you think I know about lamb?”

“ _Crap_ ,” Poe hears, and then the unmistakable sound of someone running toward the kitchen and most likely banging open the stove.

“He’s making lamb?” Poe offers, and practically hears Karé roll her eyes.

“He got the recipe from one of the ladies at temple, he’s been dying to try it out."

Poe winces. Snap Wexley is good at a great many things, but cooking has never and likely will never be one of them. “And are we all going to be…dying once  _we_ have?"

Karé sighs. “I’ll make sure there’s backup pizza,” she says.

*

It’s not the worst day Poe’s ever had, but it certainly feels like the longest.

Between the tourists, the students, and the local regulars who refuse to leave the shop at closing time and just amble their way to the register around 5:45, he’s pretty sure he’s aged fifty years or so.

But it’s fine. He’s been smart, he wore a nice black turtleneck and some jeans that are maybe a hair too tight —  _what_ , it’s not a date, but that doesn’t mean he has to dress like a slob — to work, and swung by the brownstone at around four to make sure BB8 had been feed and let out. He can — and does— just run to Crosby Street and scramble his way into the lobby at 6:05 on the dot.

Five minutes is hardly the latest he’s been, and though he wishes he wasn’t breathing quite so hard. At least it was brisk enough outside that he’s not soaked in sweat.

Of course, “not soaked in sweat” doesn’t hold up quite as well as he’d hoped when compared to Finn, who’s sitting in one of the red leather chairs in the lobby, looking like he’s modeling the navy-blue slacks and canary yellow sweater he’s wearing under Poe’s jacket.

Poe takes a breath. Finn looks up, sees him, and smiles.

“Nice jacket,” Poe says.

Finn looks down at it, as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, this?” He shrugs. “Found it in my room yesterday. Someone must’ve forgotten it."

“Oh, someone, huh?” Finn grins and stands up, letting Poe get a full look at the picture he paints. It’s — definitely a good look. “Well, I bet someone would just — be very happy with how much it suits you."

“You sayin’ I look good, Dameron?"

“You know you look good,” Poe says, quick and with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

Finn’s smile softens, and he drops his gaze. “Always nice to hear, though."

Something in the way he says it — strangely quiet, momentarily vulnerable — makes Poe’s heart break a little, though he can’t quite say why.

“You look great,” he says, trying to match his tone. Finn looks up at him, and their eyes meet.  _Fu_ _ck_ , Poe thinks, as his stomach swoops.  _This was a very bad idea._

They both look away at the same time.

Finn clears his throat.  _“_ So, we getting a taxi, then?"

“Uh, I mean,” Poe says. “I mean, if you want. But it’s about twenty minutes walk, so we could…"

Finn hesitates, glancing outside for a moment, before nodding. “Sure,” he says, and pulls out a pair of aviator glasses. “I know, I know,” Finn says, slipping them on. “A master of disguise, me."

“It’s New York,” Poe says as they head toward the door. “No one’s going to notice. Or at least, no one’s gonna say anything."

He hopes so, anyway. He hopes the rest of the city — or at least the chunk of it they’re going to pass through tonight — is going to do no worse than take a few surreptitious pictures with their phones and spend dinner debating whether or not that  _had_ been Finn Amadi walking around midtown.

Fuck, maybe they should take a cab after all.

But Finn’s standing in front of the hotel, taking a deep breath of the city air — no one should do that, Poe knows, but he’s guilty of it himself, sometimes. It’s a good day for it, cold and dry, and he can probably smell the sweet cinnamon-roasted nuts from the stand at the other end of the block, which is enough to put anyone in a more cheerful mood.

Poe tries not to stare at him too much.

“It’s, uh —“ he manages, clearing his throat. “It’s this way."

*

“How do you feel about lamb?"

Finn looks over at him, or at least Poe thinks he does — it’s hard to know what’s going on under the aviator glasses. “I don’t keep halal, if that’s what you mean."

It wasn’t, but something to file away; Poe’s starting to wonder if he should have googled Finn, just to get the kind of baseline he seems to think Poe already has.

Poe shakes his head. “No, it’s just — my friend, who’s making dinner, is like — the worst cook ever. And he’s got this new recipe he’s trying out, apparently, so I just — just want you to be prepared."

“I’ll gird my loins,” Finn says, dipping his sunglasses down just enough to throw Poe a quick, playful sort of look. Poe finds himself chewing at his lower lip, and doesn’t try very hard to stop. “This your friend whose birthday it is?"

“Nah, that’s Rose. We just usually go to Snap and Karé’s because they’ve got a proper dining room and no roommates. Except each other, I guess."

Finn snorts. “Could’ve come up to my room, then."

“Hey, if you’d offered…” Poe says, and then realizes how that sounds. “Anyway. That's New York for you."

“You grow up here?"

Poe shakes his head. “I grew up all over. Military brat. But I’ve been here a while — almost ten years, god. The last three in the city, the rest up state with my dad.”

“You like it, then?"

“Oh, I love New York. Love this part of it, especially — one of the oldest parts of the city, aside from down by Wall Street. Up here it really was a village, y’know? The streets are just like that, now. You can really feel it, sometimes — it’s not as orderly as the rest of Manhattan. Not as many straight lines.”

Finn is looking at him, and Poe blushes, drops his head. “How ‘bout you?” he says, eyes still on the sidewalk, but maneuvering his way to shoulder-bumping distance. “You a city boy?”

Finn snorts, and bumps him back. “More’n you are, apparently. Grew up in London — Brixton, mostly.”

“Where is that?” he says, as if he knows anything about London geography.

“Toward the South,” Finn says, and they walk on in silence for a bit: Poe’s all right with that, it feels less awkward than maybe it should. “Haven’t been back in a while.”

Poe glances over at him. “You miss it?"

Finn shrugs. “Don’t really think about it. Got a flat in The City now, haven’t spent a night there in almost a year. Phasma keeps tellin’ me to move out to LA, but..."

“You’re still not sure you’ll really make it?"

Finn stops short, and raises his eyebrows over the sunglasses. “Bit of a leap, mate."

“Sorry,” Poe says, holding out his hands. “You just — you didn’t sound really attached to London, I just figured…”  _shut up, Dameron_. He closes his mouth. “Sorry."

They walk on in silence for a while, decidedly less comfortable than before.

They hit an intersection, and wait as the cars whiz past. “We’re a few blocks away,” says Poe, because they are and he feels like he needs to say  _something_. Finn nods, and turns toward him. Gives him another long, slow look Poe can’t even begin to parse.

“Tell me about your friends."

“Oh,” says Poe. “Sure. Uh, well, it’s Snap and Karé’s house, I’ve known them for years, we were in the Air Force together. Snap works at a community center, Karé’s a public defender. Jess’s got repair shop, she’s coming in from Astoria — that’s in Queens, if you…” Finn nods at him, encouraging him. “Suralinda’s a journalist, we were at the Academy together."

The light changes, and they cross the street together.

“And Rose?"

“Ah, well — her sister Paige and I, we were both in JROTC senior year. Paige died a couple of years ago, so….”

“So?" Finn’s looking at him again — Poe can feel it, a strange tingly kind of warmth that comes from it, somehow — but he keeps walking.

“Both of their parents are dead, so it was just — it just made sense. To keep in touch. She’s at NYU now, works part time at Jess’s shop. She’s like, crazy smart — she’s in engineering, made honor roll last year and everything."

Finn’s smiling at him. God, that’s distracting. “What?”

“Nothing,” Finn says, turning away. “We there yet?"

“Actually,” Poe says, nodding across the street. “We are."

*

“You’re  _late_ , Dameron!” says Snap, swinging the door open. He’s wearing a truly hideous blue hawaiian shirt and has his wide, friendly,  _on my best behavior_ grin firmly in place. He catches sight of Finn, and it slips. He blinks, gaze darting between Finn and Poe, then back to Finn. Shakes his head, quick.

“My fault, I’m afraid,” says Finn, fiddling with the sunglasses he's hooked over the collar of his sweater. “Sorry."

“No—no worries,” says Snap, still staring. “Man, has anyone ever told you, you look just like—"

“This is my friend, Finn!” says Poe, desperately and too loud.

Snap blinks, swallows, and then grins again, slightly manically this time. “Great! Great, hi! Come on in,” he says, waving them both inside. “Can I take your... “ he reaches for Finn’s jacket — the jacket he has undoubtedly seen Poe wear at least three hundred times — and then blinks, darting his gaze at Poe, who shakes his head, quick and sharp _._

“Thanks,” says Finn, peeling off the jacket and handing it to Snap, hopefully remaining oblivious to their quick exchange.

“Is that Poe?” he hears Karé call.

“Yeah, that’s Poe!” he calls back, handing his own coat over to Snap, who adds: “His friend Finn’s here, too."

“Finn?” she says, wheeling herself into the foyer. “Like Finn Ama—ahh _hhh_ ,” she says, once she sees him. “Ah, well—welcome! Good to — good to see you. Meet you. I—wow."

Finn bears this with the genial poise of someone who’s used to it, smiling and holding out a hand to Snap, who’s closer.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he says. Walks over to Karé, reaches down to shake her hand too. “You’ve a lovely home."

“It’s rent controlled,” says Karé, and then winces, wide-eyed. “I mean — I mean, well, it is, I mean, thank you, I should —"

“You want a drink, Finn?” says Snap, swooping in behind him and putting a hand on Finn’s shoulder.

“Could do with a little something, yeah,” Finn says, letting himself be led back to the kitchen.

Once they’re presumably out of ear shot, Karé whirls back toward Poe. “Poe  _Dameron_ , did you seriously bring  _international superstar_ Finn Amadi  _to our shitty apartment_ without  _warning me_?"

“It’s rent controlled,” Poe offers.

“You! Shut up!” she says. “We barely cleaned! I’m not even sure we have toilet paper in the bathroom!"

“Wow, Karé."

“Shut up! It was just going to be a family thing! I talked Snap out of  _vacuuming_!” she hisses, and Poe has to laugh.

“Wow, seriously, Kun, great to know much effort you think the rest of us are worth,” he teases as they head toward the kitchen.

“Poe Dameron, I  _swear to god_ …” she trails off, opting not to elaborate what it is she swears to god, probably because she doesn’t consider it acceptable conversation in front of an actual movie star.

Said actual movie star is standing by himself, glass of red wine in his hand and a peculiar expression on his face.

Poe walks up to him, already curious. “How’s it going?"

Finn’s lips purse and his eyes sparkle with obvious amusement. “’s all right."

“Yeah?"

“Was talking to your friend Jess,” he says, low and conspiratorial, as nods towards the stove, where she and Snap are huddled over, trying to figure out the oven light. “She’s absolutely no idea who I am."

Poe holds back a laugh. “Seriously?"

“Asked me what I did and everything. 'I’m an actor,' I told her. And she — “ Finn lets out a delighted little chuckle of his own, and Poe kind of loves him for it. “Asked me if I’d been in anythin’ she might’ve seen."

“Have you?”

“Apparently not,” says Finn, and he and Poe dissolve into giggles, leaning into each other as they do.

“What’re you drinking?” says Poe, once they’ve settled a little. Can't help but notice how close they remain, almost whispering into the strangely charged space between them, but he's not about to move and he's also not going to think about it. Much.

"Merlot, I think? Not bad,” Finn says, and tips his glass towards Poe, a thoughtlessly intimate offer that Poe knows better than to accept, if only because Suralinda’s around somewhere and would definitely notice.

“Karé made sangria, too,” Suralinda says, coming up from behind him, because of course she does. “Hey, Poe."

“Hey,” Poe says, half turning toward her and breaking the delicate bubble of space he and Finn have been inhabiting. “How’s it going?” he adds.

“Great!” she says, brightly, too happy — the kind of happy she only gets when she’s about to start shit. “Who’s your friend?"

Poe holds back a sighs. He has a feeling he knows where this is going to go, and can’t quite figure out how to stop it. “This is Finn,” he says, evenly, doing his best to project  _be nice,_ for all the good it will do.

“Right, right,” she says, thoughtful. “I think I’ve seen some of your stuff."

“Thank you,” says Finn, polite.

“Hey, I didn’t say I liked it."

“ _Suri_ —" he hisses, but Finn gives a bright smile and a self-effacing kind of shrug.

“No worries,” chirps Finn. “Doesn’t matter to me, really. You paid for the tickets either way."

Suralinda snorts, and then points at him. "You're good," she says. "You're better than what they keep casting you in, though."

"Thank you," Finn says, just as sincerely, and Poe decides to cut in before Suralinda decides it's time to start giving him career advice.

"I'm going to get a drink," he says, and wraps his hand around Finn's forearm. "You coming, Finn?"

Finn takes a big gulp of his wine and nods. "Running a bit dry," he says, and lets himself be gently tugged — almost dragged, honestly — toward the fridge.

"Was that about me or you?" he says to Poe,  _sotto voce_ , as Poe roots around for the familiar jug of Karé's always super-loaded red sangria.

"Me," Poe says, though that's only about half true. "Suralinda thinks I have—" he stops short, pulling the jug out. "Bad taste in men."

There's a pause, and Poe wonders if — maybe he's overstepped. It's probably not great for Finn to be within the category of men Poe is in the position to have any kind of taste about. Maybe —

"Do you?" says Finn, handing him a glass.

Poe pours himself too much sangria, waits till the glass is almost full up before speaking again. "I have bad luck," he says, and puts the jug back, not quite ready to look Finn in the face. This is a much heavier conversation than he'd expected to be having, for one, and for another, it's neither Finn's business nor Finn's problem.

He looks up again. Finn is giving him another of those intense, searching looks he's apparently decided to make a habit of, when it comes to Poe.

"With men?" he says, once Poe meets his eyes.

"With men," Poe affirms, and Finn gives him a quick, lopsided smile and brings his glass down to clink against Poe's.

"To better luck, then," Finn says, and takes another sip.

Poe laughs, shrugs, and takes a gulp of his own.

*

"Make yourself right at home, there, Dameron!" says Snap, easing around Poe to pull another beer out of the fridge.

Poe gives him a sarcastic, half-hearted toast with his sangria. "So what's for dinner, dad?"

"Pizza," says Karé, wheeling over and taking the beer Snap's just opened for her.

"Mm, perfect," says Poe. "From John's?"

"Obviously," says Snap, though it's hardly a given — both he and Karé are particular homegrown New Yorkers when it comes to pizza, Snap partial to some hole in the wall place in Brooklyn, Karé a staunch contrarian and eternal advocate for Dominos. But John's is the first place Poe took Rose when she'd moved to the city, and she'd kind of imprinted as a result.

It also happens to be where he and Muran had their first date, and well, maybe Poe's imprinted a bit himself.

"Is that proper New York pizza, then?" Finn says, and Poe, eager to cut off any kind of debate, jumps in.

"About as proper New York pizza as it gets," he says, as Karé rolls her eyes and Snap sighs.

"Brilliant," says Finn. "Been here a full week, no one on my team's let me near it yet."

"Seriously?" Poe says, though he's not entirely shocked — he's known enough actors to assume the default is avoidance of any kind of food packing that many carbs, fats, and grease. "You're in for a treat."

Finn leans in a little, and Poe mirrors him, not entirely sure why. Finn opens his mouth, voice lower, and gets as far as, "That's what—" before the door buzzes, and they both spring back.

"That must be Rose," says Jess, who blinks at Poe. "Poe! When did you get here?"

"Like fifteen minutes ago, Jess," he says, amused.

"Oh. Sorry. We were trying to figure out what was up with Snap's—"

"Hey everybody, shut up! Shut up!" says Snap, striding back into the kitchen. "Now give it up for — The Birthday Girl!" he holds his arms up in a classic  _look at this_  pose.

Rose walks in, wearing a green party dress and blushing a little as they give her a round of applause.

"Thank you, thank you," she says, grinning a little sheepishly as she takes a quick bow, then takes a look around. "Always so glad to see my—holy shit!"

Poe swallows.  _Oh, fuck_.

“Oh my god!” shrieks Rose, bringing her hands up to her face. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I love you!"

“I—"

“You’re Finn! You’re — Finn Amadi!"

Finn looks like he's seriously considering denying it. “I am, yeah."

"HOLY SHIT. Finn Amadi came to my party! Why? How did you —"

Finn looks at him, vaguely terrified. Poe decides to take this one for the team: "I invited him."

Rose turns to look at him. "You invited him? To  _my party_?"

"I...surprise?” he says, weakly.

"Oh my GOD," she says, already starting to tear up, and lunges at him. Throws her arms around his neck, and gives him an almost brutal hug. "Poe! You're the best! Thank you!"

"You're—oof," he says, as she squeezes him again. "You're welcome," he says, patting her on the shoulder as Finn meets his eye.  _I'm sorry_ , he mouths.  _I’m so, so sorry_. Finn chuckles a little, shaking his head.

Rose pulls back. Reaches up, and takes Poe's face in her hands. "This is. This is literally the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Poe's not sure if he should take the praise — he'd completely and entirely forgotten that Finn was one of Rose's top celebrity crushes — and is about to explain at least part of that, when she turns away from him again, and makes a beeline toward Finn, who takes an automatic step back.

Rose stops short, and brings her hands up to her face again. "Oh my god," she says, quieter again. "God, I know this — I know this is one of those moments where you've got like, just one shot to be cool — and I know I totally just blew that, so whatever. But like, you're just so — you're just so important, you know? You're just so good. Such a great actor, and so smart, and everyone says you're so nice on sets and stuff. You're going to like — you're going to win an Oscar, and have such a great career, and everyone..." she's tearing up again, and Poe takes a step toward her, lays his hand on her shoulder. "You're just such an inspiration. Little kids are going to look up to you — they do look up to you! And I've like, watched all of your interviews, and I know everyone — I know everyone must say this, but I've always felt like, we could be really good friends, if we ever met. And now we are! So what do you think?"

Finn blinks. Closes his mouth. Opens it. "I think that sounds,” he manages, giving a tight, weak smile, and glances at Poe, who’s just about dying about having put Finn in this position. Finn’s smile brightens a little. “Sounds great, actually,” he says, and winks at Poe. “Could always do with a new best friend.”

*

They get Rose a drink, and make sure she takes a breath, and guide her toward the couch, encouraging her to settle for a moment.

She calms down, mostly, but keeps glancing over at Finn and beaming.

This continues until Karé announces that they’re about to serve dinner, and then Finn gives a sheepish, nervous look and asks: "Uh, where's the...."

"Down the hall to the right," Snap calls out, as Rose jumps up from the table.

"I'll show you!”

They go, and there's a moment of silence before Snap, Karé, Jess, and Suralinda surround Poe and begin peppering him with questions, none of which he can hear clearly enough to answer. Snap finally holds up his hand, and as they all quiet, rushes out: "Okay, Dameron, dish, quick: how the hell are you here with Finn Amadi?" says Snap.

“Finn Amadi?” says Jess, stricken. “Finn Amadi,  _the movie star_?”

Poe’s going to let that go. Not that he’s really ready to answer Snap’s question, either. "We just — he came into the shop, we bumped into each other later, and..." he has no idea where to go from there —  _I just decided to ask him out_ isn't even true, and would be a gross oversimplification. But the rest of it is no less complicated, and would be harder to explain. “I—"

"Oh my god," says Rose, returning from the hallway, looking haunted.

Karé turns toward her. “What happened?"

"I followed him in. I followed him into the bathroom. We were just talking, I was telling him how great Poe is, and then—" she winces. "He had to ask me to leave. Oh my god. I sexually harassed Finn Amadi."

"No one's sexually harassed anyone!" says Poe, though he's feeling more than a little vulnerable at the moment.

"Wait, are you two dating?" says Karé.

"No!" says Poe, too fast to be anything but incriminating. Knows it instantly, from the way everyone exchanges looks around him.

"Have you slept together?" says Suralinda.

"Oh my god!" says Rose, as Poe snaps, "No comment!"

Suralinda throws Jess a smirk. "That means yes."

"It does not mean yes."

"Oh yeah?" she says. "Do you jerk off?"

"Definitely no comment," he says, and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but not quick enough to miss the  _see_ expression Suralinda makes. "Look. Finn is just a friend. We're just hanging out. I need all of you — no, not you Rose, you're fine — I need the rest of you to chill the fuck out."  _Including me_ , he doesn't add, but oh god, does he mean.

*

To their collective eternal credit, they all do chill the fuck out.

By the time Finn returns from the bathroom, Jess and Suralinda are setting the table, Rose is posing for birthday pictures with the glitter-covered paper tiara Snap has placed on her head, and Karé is removing the pitcher of sangria from the fridge and pouring Poe another round before wheeling away to top off everyone else.

They all make an obvious effort to not turn and stare at Finn, but Poe’s not sure the synchronized side-eyed glances are any less suspicious.

He takes a big gulp of his newly refreshed drink, and gives Finn a quick smile as he comes over. “You okay?” he says, under his breath. Finn gives him another of those strange, puzzle-solving looks, which Poe can only return with further confusion as he clarifies. “‘cause I honestly would’ve bailed by now."

Finn laughs at that. “Somehow I doubt it.” Poe shrugs —  _fair enough,_ he can’t quite say — and takes another sip of his drink. Finn watches him do it. “That any good?"

“Uh, well, it’s… _loaded_ ,” he says. “But yeah, it’s pretty good."

“Can I try some?"

Poe, like an idiot, looks over toward Karé, preparing to wave her back over, and is honestly startled when Finn lifts the glass from his fingers and drinks from it. Poe freezes. Can’t quite tear his eyes away from Finn’s adam’s apple as it bobs, can't quite not notice the way Finn licks his lips when he’s done.

“You’re right,” Finn says, making a face as Poe swallows around nothing. “That is loaded ."

*

The pizza is served not long after, with a side salad to remind them they’re all adults who need a vegetable or two in their lives.

Finn sits down next to Rose, and Poe sits down across from him. Watches, as he and Rose chat about her classes and his time in New York so far, like they’re best friends in the making. The rest of the table drifts into their usual back and forth — job woes, politics, the subway — and Poe breathes a sigh of relief.

And then there’s cake: Snap is better at baking than he is at cooking — not that that takes much — and dessert is always the best part of dinner at at Snap and Karé's house.

They sing Rose a happy birthday, and Finn gives her a hug after she blows out the candles. They get a picture of that too — with Suralinda’s  _good_ camera, not just the smartphones — so that’ll be a treasured memory on Rose’s apartment wall for the rest of time.

They retire to the living room for coffee after, and Poe and Snap, for no real reason, revive their eternal argument about whether New York is worse in the January or August. It peters out, as it always does, mostly due to Karé tossing throw pillows at them both.

Poe laughs and turns his head, tries to understand Jess and Rose’s conversation about the physics class Rose is taking. He’s about to give up on it when he notices Finn hovering in the hall, almost but not completely out of view.

Finn sees he’s caught Poe’s eye, and smiles. Dips his head, nodding toward the hallway behind him, and slips out of sight.

Poe holds back a laugh, and rises. Would apologize, but Jess and Rose don’t seem to notice him leaving, Snap and Suralinda are talking City Hall, and Karé’s nowhere to be seen.

Finn’s a few feet down the hall, has his hands in his pockets, and is chewing at his bottom lip.

“Hey,” Poe says, walking up to him. “What’s going on?"

“Nothing,” says Finn, still smiling. “Just wanted to ask you something."

Poe stops a couple of feet away. Finn takes a step closer, and looks at him, all dark-eyed and intent. “What?"

“Hmm?” says Finn still gazing up at him. He seems to have gotten even closer, somehow, but Poe’s brain is already fogging up from the simple fact that he can now smell Finn’s cologne.

“What’d—what did you want to ask me?"

“I forget,” says Finn, and leans in.

“Oh,” Poe says, against Finn’s mouth. Parts his lips as he does so, and Finn takes quick advantage, sliding his tongue right in against Poe’s, who sighs, and drops his hands to Finn’s hips. Finn grins, wrapping one hand around the back of Poe’s neck, running the other through Poe’s hair, as he deepens the kiss yet again.

Poe kisses him back, turning his head. A flash of inspiration, and he turns them, presses Finn up against the wall, as gently as he can — doesn’t want to make too much noise, but god, on the other hand, he does. Wants to press in even tighter, and does, pinning Finn’s hips against the wall and sucking at Finn’s tongue.

Finn lets out a sound — soft, sweet — and Poe pulls back, just in case. “Okay?” he says, reaching up to run his palm along Finn’s cheek, to curl his fingers over the shell of Finn’s ear.

“I…” Finn pants, reaching for him again. “I’ve wanted to do that all night."

Poe feels himself blush, and nuzzles his nose against Finn’s. “We could do it again?” he offers. Finn’s hands come up, fingers spreading across Poe’s chest.

“We should get back,” Finn says, low.

“Yeah,” Poe says, and takes a step back. “Yeah, you’re right."

Finn pulls away from the wall, and presses right back into Poe’s space. Swoops in again, drops a quick, wet kiss to Poe’s mouth. “One for the road,” he says, pulling away before Poe can stop him.

Winks, turn around, and strolls back toward the living room, leaving Poe behind.

Poe exhales. Brings a hand to his lips — swollen, probably, definitely tingling like they are. Inhales, deep, forcing himself back to reality.

A creak behind him, and he spins around. Karé, sitting stock still, as if that’ll keep him from noticing her. Well, it certainly had before. He brings his hand up to his mouth, irrationally, as if to hide whatever evidence there might be. As if it’ll do anything to keep the dumbstruck look off his face or bring down the flush spreading across his cheeks.

She gives him a long, sympathetic look, and shakes her head. Brings her forefinger and her thumb together, draws them across her own lips.  _Zipped up,_  it says, and she mimes throwing away the key. Poe exhales again, and gives her a quick, thankful nod.

*

“Who wants coffee?” says Karé, loud and bright, doing Poe a solid by returning to the living room a full five minutes after he does.

Poe, Jess, and Suralinda raise their hands, and she gives Snap a  _look_. Snap jumps up. “I’m going go make some coffee, you guys,” he says as they both head back toward the kitchen.

 _Suspicious_ , Poe thinks, but then Finn plops down on the couch next to him and it becomes difficult to think about anything other than how close they’re sitting — Finn is pressed tight against him, thigh to hip to bumping elbows.

Poe doesn’t look at him — can’t look at him, not without making it patently obvious to everyone that he wants nothing more than to throw himself at Finn and kiss him. Kiss him  _again_. For a third — maybe fourth — time, depending on how they’re counting.

God, this is unreal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can tell Finn is smiling at him, and it seems rude not to smile back, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it. Brings a hand up to his lips instead, rubs at them again — not tingling anymore, hopefully not swollen.

Snap and Karé return from the kitchen, coffee and mugs and a plate of brownies in tow, all of which are distributed to the eagerly awaiting parties. Once that’s done, Snap sits down on Finn’s other side, and turns to look at him.

“So, Finn,” he says, and Finn turns to look at him, meaning Poe can finally turn his head and take a breath. “Just having you here makes me realize, we’re all just a bunch of depressed losers."

“Hey!” says Karé, reaching over to punch her husband in the arm.

“Karé excepted, of course. But the rest of us? Come on. Total nerds.”

“Booo,” says Suralinda. “Speak for yourself, nerd."

“Hey, I'm not saying it's a bad thing! We should be proud of being true to ourselves. In fact, I’m going to give this last brownie,” he says, holding the plate aloft. “To the biggest nerd slash loser here."

“Oooh, ooh, can I have a shot?” says Suralinda. Snap gives a formal, rolling,  _go on_ type of wave at her, and she grins. “So, I hate my job. I’m supposed to be an investigative reporter — I was a  _war correspondent_ for three years — and in the past week the most  _investigating_  I’ve done is tracking down the guy who shot the pizza pigeon video."

“Aww, I loved that video!” says Rose.

“See, the people love your work!” says Snap. “And I gotta say, you know, journalism’s a dying art — at least you’ve  _got_ a paying job in your field. Unlike poor Rose here, who’s going to leave college with a ton of student loan debt and a hostile job market."

“True,” says Rose. “And I’m a huge dork, and I’m always too busy working or studying to go anywhere or have any kind of social life. I spent the last three Friday nights eating pad thai in footie pajamas."

“But I hear you and Finn Amadi are BFFs these days,” Suralinda teases.

“True,” Rose says, mock solemn. “I don’t know  _what_ he’d do without me."

“And all your limbs work,” says Karé. “While I’m stuck in this chair. Which, don’t get me wrong, rocks — or _rolls_ , as the case may be,” she pauses to let everyone groan, grins, and then keeps going. “But I’ll never be able to use the subway again, because this city’s a fucking disaster, and….” she hesitates, and then shrugs. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever be cleared to fly again,” she says, softer than before. The room stills, and Snap reaches out to her, rests a hand on her arm. She smiles a little, and shakes her head. “How about you?” she says, to Snap.

“Me?” Snap says. “Well, I don’t think it’s fair for  _me_ to be in the running. I mean, my wife is so much cooler than me — but I see that as a plus. And, sure, I’ve got a job that's supposed to feel like saving the world, but most days feels like I’m just shuffling paper while it keeps falling apart."

"Mood," says Rose.

"But at least I'm not Poe," Snap adds. There’s an unanimous  _ooooooh_ from around the room. Including from Finn, the traitor.

“Excuse me?” Poe says, all affronted dignity.

“Serial monogamist,” says Snap.

“Recovering," Poe points out, because he hasn't dated anyone in like...a year.

“Unrepentant bird nerd,” Snap continues, counting on his fingers.

Poe huffs. “I went on  _one_ tour of—"

“You keep a  _birding_ journal!”

“Ages ago. Like, three years ago,” he says, which is true, because he’s got an app for that now.

“Always trying to drag his friends out to History Hangs,” chimes in Jess, who’s been on at least four of said History Hangs, and once said the midnight tour of Green-Wood Cemetery was her favorite pre-Halloween event ever, so, okay, whatever.

“ _Calls_ them History Hangs,” says Rose, and Snap ticks that one off on his fingers as well.

Suralinda chimes in: “Has more broken engagements than Pete Davidson."

“Who?” say Jess and Poe in unison, and Suralinda rolls her eyes.

“Pop culture ignoramus, and not even pretentious about it,” she continues, and counts off on her own fingers. “Always falling in love with the wrong guy. And will probably never, ever see Finn again, especially once Finn finds out that his nickname at the Academy —"

“No! No,  _no_ , don’t you  _dare—"_

 _“—_ was…'Squirt.’"

The room — including Finn — bursts out laughing, and Poe buries his head in his hands.

When they’re done roasting him, they all look to Jess, who crosses her arms in front of her and shakes her head. “Hey, I’m the coolest one here,” she says. “I’m a small business owner,” she counts off on her own fingers. “I’m a woman in STEM. I pay my employees a living wage. Also, Rose thinks I’m cool, and she’s tight with Finn Amadi, so you know she knows what’s hip."

"You do live in Queens, though," Suralinda points out. 

"It's  _Astoria_ ," says Jess, indignant.  

“Ooof, well, tight race,” says Snap, starts handing the plate over at Poe. “But with 93% of districts reporting, I think we’ve gotta call—"

“Wait, what about me?” says Finn.

“I’m sorry?” says Snap, putting the plate back down. “You think  _you_ deserve the brownie?"

“A shot at it, at least,” he says, and gives Poe a quick nudge. “Fair’s fair, right?"

“I mean, you’re going to have to prove it,” says Poe. “And this is a  _really_ good brownie, so — I’m not letting it go without a fight."

Finn gives him a quick  _you’re on_ sort of look, which is — unfortunately quite hot, and Poe has to force himself not to blush.

“Well,” Finn says, holding up his hand. “Orphaned at two years old,” he counts off. "In and out of foster homes after that, most of which were shit. Did a bunch of my own stunts at the start of my career ‘cuz I thought it’d help my prospects, and tore the shit out of my knees. Every time I get cast in something big, I’ve a million angry blokes tweetin’ at me to go back to where I came from, and I don’t suppose they mean London. And I’m—“ he takes a breath, seems to realize everyone is now looking at him with rapt attention and a great degree of sympathy.

“I’m bloody terrified. Every minute. That I’ll do somethin’ — that somethin’ will come out — and ruin my image, which’s been meticulously crafted for me since I was nineteen, mostly without my input. One wrong step, and then all of it — all the money, the work, the pressure to live up to whatever it is everyone sees in me — will be gone, and everyone’ll realize I’m not all that handsome and that I can’t really act.” He stops for a moment, seemingly realizing all of what he’s just said. Shakes his head. “Worst of it is — in a way I’d be relieved. Might chuck it all willingly, frankly, except I’ve no other real skills, beyond pretending to be someone else."

There’s another pause. Everyone takes a breath, together, and Poe leans into him, just a little — just for whatever comfort it might be, to have someone close enough to lean against.

And then Snap reaches over, clasps his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Nah,” he says, forced joviality giving way to real comfort. “Nice try, big shot. You’ll be a goddamn icon for years to come no matter what, and the rest of us’ll just be hanging out here playing Who’s The Biggest Loser."

“I still think it’s me,” chimes Poe, gently elbowing Finn in the ribs — Finn elbows him back, and pouts as Snap passes him the brownie.

Poe is nothing if not a magnanimous winner, and splits his brownie into six semi-even pieces — comes out to about a mouthful each, but, he thinks, that’s got to be better than nothing.

*

It doesn’t take long for the evening to wind down after that. Everyone’s got work the next day, Finn included — a morning show with a six AM call time, apparently, and a full day of press after that.

He and Poe say their goodbyes to the group — Poe’s kind of the afterthought, waving at his friends while Finn stops to compliment each and every one of them before he goes.

“This was such a great night,” Finn says, and Karé smiles.

“I’m glad."

“And I love that shirt,”  he says, pointing at Snap’s vast blue eyesore.

Snap laughs, taking Finn’s hand and pulling him into a hug. “See, man, you  _are_  a good actor, I almost bought that."

Finn smiles as Snap lets him go, and then turns to Rose — “Happy birthday, kiddo,” he says, as if he’s not a year older than her at most. But he gives her another hug, and kisses her forehead. Whispers something in her ear, that she blushes and nods at, before leaning in and whispering something into his.

He and Suralinda exchange a polite, professional handshake and a set of nods that seem to have a significance which Poe can’t even begin to parse. Then Finn turns to Jess, who blurts out “I love all your work!”

“Thank you,” Finn says. “Nice meeting you all,” he adds, throwing one last casual wave to the room, before Poe takes him by the arm and drags him out into the hall.

The door shuts behind them, and before Poe can say anything, the sounds of almost hysterical screaming and laughter break out from inside of the apartment.

“Yeah,” Poe says, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, they’re always that glad to get rid of me.” 

Finn looks at him for a moment, eyebrows raised, and then breaks into quick, snorting, genuinely infectious laughter that Poe is powerless to resist.

 

 

 

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> negl this was one of my favorite chapters to write


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Do you want to come up?” Finn says, as they break apart to catch their breath. Poe looks around, realizes they’re about half a block from Finn’s hotel._
> 
> _Shuts his eyes for a moment. “There….seem to be a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t,” he says, trying — trying_ so hard _— to be sensible, to do the right thing, or at least, the thing that won’t cause Finn more problems than it’s worth or shred Poe’s own dumb heart to pieces yet again._
> 
> _“There are a lot of reasons,” Finn agrees, equally logical. Poe opens his eyes, and Finn cocks his head. “But do you want to come up?"_

“So, Squirt, huh?” says Finn, as they amble their way back in the direction of his hotel, or possibly Poe’s house, or technically both — Poe almost doesn’t want to clarify.

“It’s because I was _short,_ ” says Poe, tight, precise, and — he realizes — entirely unconvincing.

Finn giggles a little. “Right. Well, still are, mate,” he says.

“Hey, you got like an inch on me at _best,_ there, buddy,” says Poe, laughing as he hip checks Finn.

They fall into step together, a careful, measured pace, almost as if neither is in any particular hurry to get anywhere. At least that’s how Poe feels. Should know better than to assume Finn’s feeling the same, and yet.

He turns his head, and finds Finn looking back at him. “Hey,” he says, soft. “I’m sorry if that was — I’m sorry if that was weird."

Finn smiles. “It wasn’t,” he says. “Most fun I’ve had in ages, frankly. Got some good friends there, Dameron."

Poe huffs a laugh and turns away. “Yeah, I only want to murder like, three of them right now."

Finn laughs, turns to Poe like he’s about to ask which ones. Seems to change his mind, and drop his gaze instead. Walks on a few more steps, and then:

“Why is she in the wheelchair?”

“Car accident,” says Poe.  “Little more than a year ago.”

Finn nods, thoughtful. “I know a bloke — used to be a stuntman, had a bad fall a couple years ago. Flies a Sisna —”

“Cessna,” Poe corrects, automatically, and winces. Finn doesn’t seem to take it personally, just gives a quick, grateful nod.

“Right. Had hand controls put in, I think. Keeps tryin’ to get me to go up with him, but…” Finn shrugs. “Haven’t had the time, yet.”

“You should take him up on it,” says Poe. “Cessnas are classic."

“You ever flown one?”

“Years ago,” Poe says. “When I left the Air Force. I, uh, worked at a club upstate for a while — a flight club, I mean. Took people out in a 172 sometimes.” Poe shrugs. “It was a while ago, though.”

“Can’t have been _that_ long,” Finn teases, lightly, and Poe huffs.

“I’m like, way older than you, Finn.”

“No you’re not,” Finn says, with the blithe, flattering confidence of a twenty-three year old.

Poe, who knows better, smiles. “Sure,” he says, hoping not to sound too patronizing. Finn laughs at him, soft and amused, and bumps his hip again.

They walk another block in delicate silence, and then:  “You were engaged,” Finn says. Not quite a question, and Poe’s got the plausible deniability to leave it at that.

“Three times,” he says, casually, as if it’s not a permanent festering wound in his heart. And it’s not — it’s not anything as dramatic as that, it’s just — sometimes things don’t work out, and somehow, for Poe, it’s less sometimes than all the time.

“What happened?"

“Well, one of them was in love with someone else,” Poe says. “Before he met me. And then during. And now after. They’re married. I was in the wedding. It’s all…very civil."

“Simple as that?” Finn says, incredulous.

“We try. Other one I started dating right after that, things were super intense for a while, and then we both realized we kinda hated who we were when we were together, so…”

Finn huffs, and rolls his eyes, and Poe is again struck by how young he is, how few relationships he’s most likely been in. Could look it up, probably — maybe Finn assumes he knows it already — but in a sense he’d rather not find out that way. Wonders if it’s foolish to hope Finn’ll tell him someday. That they’ll _get a someday,_ when by all indications this is a one-off date and maybe a chance for Finn to try something out with someone he’s trusting not to sell him out at the first opportunity.

If that’s the case, Poe is flattered — Poe is _beyond_ flattered, Poe is amazed — and of course he’d never betray Finn’s trust, but there’s a weak, romantic part of his heart that’ll always wonder if it could’ve been more, in a different time and place and set of respective circumstances.

“And the other one?” Finn says, suddenly, and Poe stops short, smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk in front of one of the ubiquitous new poke places. Thankfully, it’s late enough and cold enough that there’s no one in the streets, and everything but the bars and coffee shops are closed.

“It’s a— it’s kind of a long story."

“Right,” says Finn, looking momentarily wounded, but covering it well, and gives him a _let’s get going then_ kind of nod.

Poe sighs, shakes his head, and takes a breath. “He died.”

“Shit,” says Finn, looking genuinely distressed and — more than a little concerned, possibly that Poe’s going to fall apart in front of him. “Christ, I had — I had no idea, you don’t have to—"

Poe shakes his head. “No, it’s — it was a long time ago. I was — about your age, actually. I deal with it, it’s not — I’ve dated since then, you know, it’s not — “ he gives up. “Everyone’s got stuff,” he says. “Everyone’s got their own tragedy. I deal with it. I’ve loved since then —“ too much, obviously: conventional wisdom would be, he’d find it harder, after, to let someone in, to be vulnerable, to care about someone enough that it would hurt to lose them. Poe’s grief has never worked like that.

He sometimes wishes it did.

“Are you cold?” he says, turning to look at Finn, whose hands are in his pockets and whose breath is fogging in the air between them.

Finn blinks. “What?” he says, which: fair. That was something of a curve, and Poe isn’t above deflection.

“Are you cold?” he clarifies. “We could swing by a Duane Reade, get you some gloves."

Finn shakes his head, and then sighs. “A bit,” he concedes. “’s’all right, I’ll be fine."

Poe reaches out, runs his hands up and down along Finn’s arms. Finn chuckles a little but keeps still.

“Give me your hands,” Poe says, and Finn does, pulling them out from his pockets and letting Poe clasp his hands around Finn's. Doesn’t say anything as Poe rubs his palms briskly at over Finn's fingers, or when Poe leans over to blow warm air over them.

“Is this your move?” says Finn, and Poe can practically hear the grin.

“Move?” Poe says, all innocent concern. “Who says I’ve got a move?” Finn laughs, and Poe looks up at him. “Is it working?"

Finn cocks his head. “Maybe,” he concedes, smiling a little.

Poe smiles back, but lets his hands drop away from Finn's. “We should get going,” he says, because as much as he wants to kiss Finn — as much as he gets the feeling Finn wants to get kissed — he’s not about to make out with a closeted movie star in the middle of a New York City street and expect to _not_ to end up all over the internet within the hour. He can be impulsive, sure, but he’s not a complete reckless idiot.

“I’ve gotta get you home,” he adds, only realizing how it might sound when Finn inhales, quick, and looks away.

Then he squares his shoulders, tosses his head back, and looks Poe straight in the eye. “Right,” he says, and nods. “Lead the way, then."

They walk again. Close enough that their knuckles keep brushing, and Poe considers — just for a second — reaching out, letting their fingers weave together. But the thought passes, and they just walk together, side by side, quiet as cars ramble past and waves of noise spill from the restaurants and bars.

“Where are we?” Finn asks, quick, a little too loud.

“Back in the Village,” Poe says. “About a block from Washington Square."

“Oh, the Arch, right?"

“Uh-huh,” Poe says, and glances over. “Have you been yet?"

“Nah, barely seen anything of the city yet, actually."

“Do you…” Poe looks over at him. “Do you want to swing by? It’s on the way, if we cut through the park, and it’s lit up right now."

“If you’d like,” says Finn, who’s clearly holding back a bit of a grin.

“Oh, I’d like,” says Poe, and grabs his wrist, dragging him down the street and over one block.

*

Finn’s quiet once they get there — follows Poe as he walks them around the Arch, which is pure bright white in the variable city darkness of the park, with the headlights of cars and street lamps flooding certain patches and throwing others into deeper shadow.

The fountain’s running, and there’s the usual motley collection of tourists, college students, and cranky locals cutting through on their way home.

“What’s it for?” says Finn, finally, as they approach the south face  — a crowd of college kids are bustling past, and Poe glances down, checking out the new chalk drawings spreading out from the base.

“George Washington. Uh — the centennial of his inauguration. He’s on the other side, c’mon…” he walks Finn underneath the Arch, and points out the two statues on each side. “One’s for him as commander-in-chief, the other’s him as president.” Finn’s looking at him again — not at the statues, or the Arch, or anything else in the park — and Poe ducks his head. Wonders if he’s blushing, hopes he could chalk it up to the cold. “Anyway. It was designed by Stanford White, who was part of this big architecture firm that did a bunch of famous buildings in the city. McKim, Mead & White. Is what it was— called."

“Is this a History Hang?” Finn teases, and Poe has to laugh.

“Uh, maybe. I did — I took a tour. A while ago.”

“What kind of tour?"

“Queer history of the Village,” he says, in a rush. “Which is mostly all of it. Stanford White was probably bi, for one, and this’s always kinda been — that sort of area. Stonewall’s like, four blocks from here, if you wanted to — “ Poe stops himself, course corrects. “Also it used to be a cemetery. Or, potter’s field, actually — poor people who couldn’t afford to be buried anywhere else. And there were public gallows on one end. Supposedly there’s still thousands of bodies underground.”

Finn snorts. “Jesus."

“What?” says Poe.

“Nothing,” he says, grinning. “Just — you’re an odd one, Poe Dameron."

“You know, that doesn’t quite feel like a compliment there, buddy, but I’m gonna take it as one,” he says, and they head back under the Arch. “This is one of my favorite parts of the city,” he says, as they turn onto a softly lit, mostly solitary bench-lined path. “It’s always been for — the outsiders. Writers, artists. Queer people. It’s not — it’s a bunch of college kids and rich people, these days, but — parts of it are still just _weird_. And they’ve got a great dog run, on the other side, that BB8 loves to…” he trails off, as Finn walks steps in front of him, turned to face him.

“Hi?” Poe says, acting as if he has no idea where this is going because in some ways, he still can’t believe it.

“Hello,” says Finn, who drops his hands to the collar of Poe’s jacket, and reels him in.

It’s still a bad idea — Poe knows it, probably better than Finn does. They’re on a quiet path and the lights don’t provide quite enough visibility to easily identify anyone you may or may not see engaging in a public display of affection, but public it remains, and anyone could walk by.

But Finn’s — up against him again, tightly in his space, kissing him lightly — soft lips, warm and dry. Poe opens his mouth, knows Finn will do the same. Eases one hand onto Finn’s shoulder, drops the other to Finn’s hip. Changes his mind, slides it up Finn’s side, under his jacket and almost around his back. Drawing him closer, further, firmer against Poe’s body.

Finn sighs, relaxing into Poe’s arms. Reaches up to run his fingers through Poe’s hair, and turns his head, and sucks on Poe’s tongue.

They keep on like that — just kissing, though that seems like more than enough, like too much, honestly — and then Poe hears the jangle of a bell and jolts back. “Get a room!” yells some wise-ass on a citibike, whizzing by. Poe flips them off, instinctually, and Finn turns away, automatically hiding his face.

“I, uh—“ Poe takes a deep breath, tries to settle the pounding of his heart. “Sorry,” he says, as Finn — wide-eyed and breathing hard — drops his gaze. “Sorry, just — we should probably just —“

 _What_? Poe chides himself. _Get a_ _room?_

He takes another breath, and goes for broke. “Do you want to come back to my place?” he says.

Finn looks up at him, and there’s just enough light for Poe to see his face, the way his expression flickers between confusion and desire and fear and _yearning_. And then it shutters, a shaky mask of certainty.

“I can’t,” he says. Seems to be about to leave it at that — Poe’s certainly not going to push — but then he sighs. “I have that interview in the morning, and Phasma’s going to be in first thing to prep me, and…"

“Hey,” Poe says, soft, and reaches out, rests his hands on Finn’s shoulders. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain — "

“Fuck, you’re too much,” Finn says, ducking his head and pulling out of Poe’s grasp.

“Um,” Poe says. “I don’t know what—“

“I just —“ Finn groans to himself, and looks up at Poe again. “I like you a lot,” he says. It doesn’t feel like a compliment.

Poe pauses. “Thank you?”

“ _Too much_ , more like,” Finn says, as if he hadn’t heard. “You’re just —"

“I’m really not — "

“You’re so bloody nice."

“ _I’m really not,_ ” Poe feels compelled to say. Finn gives him a look, and Poe sighs. “I’m not. I have bad days. I’m a jerk to people I don’t like, and even sometimes to people I do like. I can be judgmental and don’t leave well enough alone, even when I really should."

“Didn’t say you were perfect,” says Finn, though he seems to relax. “I just said you were too nice. And you are."

“Agree to disagree, then,” says Poe. “And look: you don’t owe me anything. This was one date,”  _if that,_ he thinks. “It’s not — a relationship. I’m not going to — hold anything against you, or _out_ you, or expect anything. You don’t have to worry about that."

“I’m not."

“Good. So I’m just gonna walk you back to your hotel, say good night, and that’ll be that."

And it seems like it will be: they keep walking, a good foot or so apart this time, though automatically in step.

They’re a block away from his hotel — it’s in sight and everything — when Finn stops short. Reaches out, grabs Poe’s wrist, and draws him back a little, into the shadow of a storefront.

“Poe —“ he says, not quite looking at him, but squeezing his fingers around Poe’s wrist.

“Yeah?"

“I want to. Want to go back to your place, want to…” he lets himself trail off. “Want to try. I’ve never…” he says, and shrugs. “But I want to. With you."

“Finn—“

“But it’s complicated. Everything’s — so bloody complicated. I’m gettin’ work — real work —  but no one’s even really sure what to do with me half the time, and this’d be— something else. Some other problem everyone’d have to deal with."

“I get it,” says Poe.

“I don’t think I’m ready for all that. Dunno if I’ll ever— be ready. And I can’t waste this chance I’ve got, when I’m not even really sure I—"

“You don’t have to be,” Poe says, as earnestly as he can — reaches out to him again, takes Finn’s face in his hands. “Listen to me. You don’t have to be sure. I mean, ever, but especially now. And you don’t have to be anything — to _do_ anything — for me. I’m not here ‘cause I wanted to sleep with you, I’m here ‘cause I like you. And if all you ever wanna do is talk, we can talk. You’ve got my number, and—"

Finn leans in again. Kisses him, soft and swift and dry, allowing almost no reciprocation on Poe’s part before he pulls back. “Thank you,” he says, lets go of Poe’s wrist, and walks away.

* 

Poe sleeps in the next morning.

He doesn’t quite feel… _good_. But he does feel — content. Satisfied. Like he’s done a good thing, helped someone out, made a new friend who needed it. There are worse things, really.

And that would be enough — should be enough. But it’s raining when he makes it out: a light drizzle at first, when he takes BB8 to the dog run, and then a full-on downpour as he shuffles his way to the shop. His umbrella and his raincoat do their level best to keep him dry and mostly fail.

He’s opens the shop maybe five minutes late, which is late enough for some upper east side prep school kid to be on the verge of throwing a garbage can through his window because of his apparently desperate need for a new copy of _Catcher in the Rye._

After that, it’s a quiet morning: Oddy arrives, takes one look at the bags under Poe’s eyes, and exits the shop. Apparently high tails it over to the coffee place three door down, because he returns with not just coffee in tow but two beautiful, massive donuts. Which neither of them _really_ need, but…Poe’s not in the position to turn down a much-needed sugar rush.

He rides out the crash in the back office, yawning into his hand and rubbing the back of his neck as he goes through the pen and notebook catalogue.

It’s a very normal day, all things considered. Dreary, boring, unfortunately wet — as _real_ as life gets, frankly, which is exactly what Poe needs, to remind himself of who and where he is.

He’s shutting the shop up for the night, thankful that the storm has exhausted itself back into a light drizzle as he does, when he feels his phone buzz.

**_You busy?_ **

Poe takes a breath. Looks up at the grey sky, feels the droplets misting his face even as his fingers slide across the cool glass screen of his phone. _Yes,_  he should say, because he is — he has to do laundry, he has to wash dishes, he has to go home and make sure Kylo hasn’t burned the house down.

 **_Why?_ ** he texts instead, pulling his hoodie over his head and starting his walk home.

 **_was thinking of crashing a movie_ ,**texts Finn.

 **_when/where_** **?**

**_the angelika. eight o’clock._ **

Which means they’ll be out till after midnight, probably. Poe should say no, should suggest another date, should do anything but what he actually does, which is text back, _**see you then**._

*

He practically runs home, wraps BB8 up in her raincoat and takes her for a quick jog — she loves the rain, seems a little disappointed she doesn’t get to frolic in it as much as Poe usually lets her — and then darts back back home.

Doesn't have time to change, much less shower. Which is fine. He’s not going to be vain about this — he’s going to meet up with a friend and go see a movie and he doesn’t need to look _good_ for that, he just needs to be comfortable. He only remembers, once he’s already on his way to the theater, that he’d found a hole under the armpit of his blue sweater that morning and could've at least swapped _that_ out.

But again: no vanity. This isn’t a date.

It’s a brisk, wet walk to the Angelika and to Poe’s surprise, Finn is waiting for him outside, wearing a black leather jacket and his usual aviators.

He also seems to have spotted Poe before Poe spotted him, because he’s already down the stairs to greet him, holding out his hand for what seems to be a handshake but turns into a firm, long hug.

“Oh, uh…” Poe says, still slightly surprised Finn is still hugging him. “Hey, buddy."

“Hello,” Finn says, finally letting go.

Poe pulls back, and gives him a quick once-over. “You look like the Terminator,” he says, without thinking, and then blushes. To his relief, Finn laughs a little, ducks his glassed down a bit so he can look Poe in the eye.  

“Come with me if you want to live,” he says, in a terrible Schwarzenegger accent, then wraps a hand around Poe’s wrist and drags him around the side of the building.

Knocks on a side door Poe’d never even realized went into the theater. It swings open, and a woman with a long dark braid and dark serious eyes peers out at them. “Yeah?” she says, and Finn takes off his glasses and smiles an incredibly winning smile. She blinks, and then nods. “Oh, hello, Mr. Amadi. Come on in."

They’re ushered in. “Come on in?” Poe whispers, as they’re hurried down a corridor.

“Told you we were crashing,” Finn says, and glances back. “Got a mate doin’ a Q&A, we’re here for moral support."

“What’s the movie about?"

“Guess we’ll find out,” Finn says with a shrug. They’re hustled into a theater and led to a row of reserved seats.

“Thank you,” they both say to their guide, who throws Finn a mock salute and darts off again.

Poe can hear the people behind them tittering — it’s dark but Finn’s taken his sunglasses off, and they have just been led to apparently special seats. They might not know exactly who just walked in, but a New York art house film audience is going to make at least some assumptions.

Poe, glancing back, makes a few of his own: the theater behind them is packed, by a much younger population than is usually the case at the Angelika.

Poe turns away, and leans over to whispers: “Who’s your mate?”

Finn is checking his phone — possibly for the time, though Poe catches sight of his message app. “Liam Hemsworth."

Poe lets out a small, interested hum — he knows that name at least, though he can’t quite remember what movies he’s been in. Finn is giving him a quick sidelong glance — Poe thinks he may be trying to gauge his reaction — which Poe chooses to ignore.

“How do you know him?” he says instead, taking out his own phone to put it on airplane mode.

“Did a movie together,” Finn says, after a moment. “ _Delta Force_."

“I don’t think I saw that."

Finn snorts. “I wouldn’t bother.”

Poe’s about to say something calamitously stupid like _I’m sure I’d like anything you’re in_ but stops himself, because it’s not a date.

The lights fade, and the previews start. Finn’s arm brushes against his on the armrest, which Poe ignores — _it’s not a date_ — and then Finn’s elbow nudges him in the ribs, which is a little harder to ignore.

“What?” Poe says, leaning over again.

“Nothing,” whispers Finn, and then smiles. “Just wanted to—thank you for coming along."

*

The movie isn’t bad — a ponderous, mostly silent journey of a young man making his way through the Australian desert. Well acted if a little slow, and not really Poe’s first choice of entertainment. But it’s moody and atmospheric and beautifully shot, and Finn watches with rapt attention.

The Q&A after is par for the course of Poe’s experience with Q&As, which is to say: mixed. Lots of questions about _The Hunger Games_ — ah, that’s where Poe knows him from — and a few on the logistics of the movie itself, and then the moderator wraps things up.

Liam and the director retreat to a back room after, and the theater attendant from before appears to lead Finn — and Poe, in his wake — backstage as well.

Finn and Liam exchange a quick, manly, back-patting hug and then Poe finds that he’s being looked at, very intensely, by two incredibly handsome young men. He has, quite frankly, never felt older for it, or more aware of the fact that his _not a date_ outfit of old khakis and blue sweater-with-hole-in may in fact be the most boring thing he’s ever worn.

“Poe, this is my mate, Liam,” Finn says. Liam holds out his hand and Poe automatically reaches out to take it. They shake hands as Finn continues: “Liam, Poe’s the one I was tellin’ you about."

“The book shop owner!” Liam says, letting go of his hand to point at him. “Good on you, mate."

Poe holds back a panicked laugh. Can’t quite figure out what he’s talking about, isn’t about to ask. “That’s me,” he says, as evenly as he can. “Good, uh — good job in the movie. I liked it, you were — very good."

“Ah, thanks,” he says, sheepish, and then punches Poe shoulder. Looks over to Finn again. “You two up for a drink?"

“Love to, mate, but we’ve got a reservation to keep,” says Finn, which is news to Poe, but he’s not exactly going to challenge it.

 *

“So we’ve got reservations, huh?” says Poe, as they walk out of the same secret side door — Finn’s got his sunglasses back on, meaning the small crowd of fans who’re clearly waiting for a famous actor don’t clock him right away, or apparently at all.

“Ah, well—“ Finn says, wincing. “Was gonna tell you about that."

“So tell me about it."

Finn hesitates for a moment, and they walk together in silence for about a block. Eventually, he comes to a stop, and turns to Poe. Takes his glasses off, and looks him straight in the eye. “Let me buy you dinner,” he says, deceptively casual.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner, Finn,” Poe says, automatic and vaguely terrified that Finn will push the issue and irreparably jeopardize the _this is not a date_ ethos he has tried to enforce on the evening.

“I want to. I’m leaving tomorrow, and you’ve been lovely. I feel like...I feel like I owe you that much."

“You don’t owe me anything,” says Poe, and notices the quick flash of disappointment in Finn’s eyes. “But…I guess I do have to eat."

“Is that yes?”

“That’s yes,” Poe says, and Finn ducks his head and grins.

*

They go to a sushi place that’s nice but not outrageously so — Poe’s even eaten there before, though not behind the gauzy white curtains separating them from the moderate buzz of a Wednesday night at 10:30 pm crowd.

“Can I ask you something?” says Finn, once they’ve settled and ordered drinks.

Poe looks over at him, trying to predict how awkward the answer will potentially be. “Of course,” he ventures.

“Did you always want to run a bookshop?"

“Oh.” Poe laughs, relieved. “Uh, no. I always wanted to be a fighter pilot. But that’s not...” he shrugs. “Not really a lifetime career you can have. And I’d always been a huge nerd. We were always moving around when I was little, always had a book to keep me distracted. Then I was deployed a lot, so I read a lot of books in the downtime. Then I came back here and it felt like something I could do. Y’know, it's never going to be — The Strand. But small shops are doin' better than you’d think these days. People like the walk-in experience.” Finn’s giving a strange kind of smile and Poe blushes, looks down. “Anyway. Did you always want to be an actor?"

“Oh, yeah,” says Finn, so fast and sure that it makes Poe smile. “Always."

“Yeah?” he says, teasing a little. “You wanted to be a big deal movie star?"

“No, theater. Always theater, movies just — just kinda happened. But when I was a kid, had a teacher that took us to see — Christ, it must’ve been _Much Ado About Nothing_ , or something like that. One of the comedies, anyway. Nothin’ fancy, not a real proper company or anything, but — they’d a black man, playing the prince. He’s not the lead or anythin’ but —“ he looks down, gives a quick shrug. “Guess it meant somethin’ to me."

“I guess it did,” says Poe.

Finn looks up, and shakes his head. “Anyway. Always tried out for parts in school — never as good at musicals, but the rest, did pretty well. Did a few shows in the city for a while but started runnin’ out of money. Had a friend at Pinewood — it’s a studio near London — who got me a bit part, caught a producers eye, and now I’m here."

“Practically overnight,” says Poe, who doesn’t know everything about Finn’s story but has absorbed the outline of it — per Poe’s memory, he was in one of the latest James Bond movies, made it into a bunch of other big budget action blockbusters, some of which his characters even managed to survive, and was suddenly all over the billboards in Times Square.

“Didn’t feel that way to me,” Finn says. “Felt like — killing myself with work and auditions and parts that kept getting cut for a year. Then getting a steady job on the West End but still not makin’ enough to get out of my shit flat, and then the show closed, and I had to —” Finn drops his head. “But that’s how it is. One minute you’re livin’ on a mate’s couch, six months later producers’re puttin’ you up at the Ritz and training you to talk to the press. Could go the other way, too, like  _that_ , if you’re not careful. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for anythin’ else. Or hasn’t, yet."

 _Anything else like theater or anything else like dating_? Poe would ask, if this was a date. _Or anything else like exploring your sexuality_? he would never, ever ask, but he wonders about it all the same.

The waitress and a server arrive with the order of sake, and the starter of the prix fixe menu that Poe hadn’t even realized they’d ordered — Finn must’ve asked for it in the reservation, is quick to thank the server and give the waitress a nod of approval —  which consists of some brightly colored fried dumplings.

“Wow,” says Poe, after trying one — its crispy skin crackles in his mouth, and the juice of the lightly spiced meat floods against his tongue.

“Good?” says Finn, grinning, as he reaches for one of his own.

Poe nods. “Amazing.”

Dinner continues apace: conversation about the food and the movie and where Finn is off to next — LA, apparently; he’s not excited about it — and Poe feels himself relax. Maybe because of the company, maybe because of the sake. Maybe because it’s a great meal that he doesn’t have to budget for but also doesn’t have to worry about someone else affording either.

He finds himself biting at his lower lip a lot, just staring at Finn, listening to him — he’s ranting about the latest director he’s working with, how much of a perfectionist he is, how he’s dreading the number of takes he’s famous for. Poe likes listening to him — something about Finn’s intensity is just charming, and he loves seeing people care strongly about things, being unashamed to show it.

So, he’s got a crush on Finn — he can join the club, apparently. But beyond that, he _likes_ Finn, likes this side of him, the passionate, talkative side that moves his hands around a lot and doesn’t wear dark sunglasses.

“What?” says Finn, probably concerned about the look Poe’s giving him.

Poe blinks, and shakes his head, laughing at himself a little. “Nothing,” he says, and then looks back up at Finn. “You’re just…really great, that’s all."

Finn’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth. Then shuts it, dropping his gaze. Up again. “I’m—not. I mean, thanks, I mean—"

 _Fuck it_ , Poe thinks. 

“Here,” Poe says, swirling some beautiful glass noodles around his fork and holding it over to Finn. “Try these."

Finn opens his mouth and lets Poe feed him. Smiles as Poe pulls his fork away.

“Good?” Poe asks.

Finn swallows. “Great."

*

It’s past midnight when they leave the restaurant, warm and full of food and rice wine and who knows what else.

Poe knows what else — his extremities are tingling with it, not the cold air, not the alcohol, but…. _possibility._ He looks over at Finn, who gives him a swift, careful smile, and then reaches over, emboldened by the new day and the warm effervescence in his chest. Takes Finn’s hand in his own, and weaves their fingers together.

Finn — hesitates, for a moment, but lets him, squeezes his fingers around Poe’s, and lets himself be guided down the street and back towards his hotel.

It’s maybe too late to be out like this. It’s a safe area — much safer than it’d been even when Poe first moved to New York — but still. It’s quiet and dark and Finn’s hand is warm against his.

“My mom died when I was a kid,” Poe says, apropos of nothing but the sudden memory he has, of his parents walking ahead of him, hand in hand. Finn looks at him, and Poe looks back.  “Sorry. I just — you mentioned your parents yesterday, and I didn’t get a chance to tell you. And I know it’s not the same,” Poe adds. “I grew up with my dad. Well, my dad and my grandfather. Still close to both of them. So I know it’s — I know it’s not the same. But if you ever wanted to talk about it—"

Finn stops and pulls ahead of him, so they’re face to face again, but still holding hands. Finn gives him a long, curious look. “You really do just like to talk to people."

“I really do,” says Poe, kind of sing-song and weird as he waggles his head — he may be drunker than he thought. “It’s just — nice. I like learning people’s stories. I like figuring out how — if I can help them.” He cringes a little. “That makes me sound—"

“Nice?” Finn offers.

“Like a busybody. Like I’m — in everyone’s business. I just—"

Finn reaches out, cradles the back of Poe’s head with his free hand. Leans in, slow but inevitable. His fingers card through the Poe’s hair as they kiss, soft and sweet, almost chaste.

After a moment, Finn pulls back. Rubs his thumb at the side of Poe’s head. “You’ve got a — you’ve got this curl that sticks out the wrong way, here."

“Yeah,” says Poe, still stunned — at this point he doesn’t know why, it’s not like Finn hasn’t done this before — and swallows. “Yeah, it does that."

Finn leans in and kisses him again. Longer this time, with a hint of tongue. Poe sighs, drops his hand to Finn’s chest, needing something to anchor him as the world starts spinning.

"Do you want to come up?” Finn says, as they break apart to catch their breath. Poe looks around, realizes they’re about half a block from Finn’s hotel.

Shuts his eyes for a moment. “There….seem to be a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t,” he says, trying — trying _so hard_ — to be sensible, to do the right thing, or at least, the thing that won’t cause Finn more problems than it’s worth or shred Poe’s own dumb heart to pieces yet again.

“There are a lot of reasons,” Finn agrees, equally logical. Poe opens his eyes, and Finn cocks his head. “But do you want to come up?"

Poe — can’t speak. Is suddenly, irrevocably frozen by indecision. Of course he _wants to_ come up. But it’s gotten no less complicated — Finn’s gotten no less closeted, which Poe could deal with, except for the part where he lives across an ocean and will be flying across a continent tomorrow. Poe’s not good at this to begin with — the relationship thing, the first time thing. He’s especially not good at it in a no-strings-attached, one night stand kind of way. Never has been, but especially now that he’s over thirty, grown out of any spontaneity he may have had, but just as much of a hopeless romantic as ever.

Finn smiles at him, like he’s gotten his answer. “Give me five minutes,” he says, and goes inside.

Poe swallows. Take a breath, takes out his phone, and begins to count down.

*

Five minutes, on the button, and he goes inside.

He doesn’t let himself think — he can’t, he’ll stall out or run away.

He goes up stairs.

He walks down the hall.

He takes a breath. Lets it out.

Knocks on the door.

It opens instantly, and Finn is there, looking bright eyed and perfect and — worried, but Poe’s too happy to see him and too happy to be there to notice it right away. Chalks it up to the occasion once he does: he was nervous before his first time with a guy, too. Hell, he's nervous now.

He reaches out, grabbing at the front of Finn’s shirt again and pulling him into a kiss.

Finn ducks his head to avoid it, and takes a step back, out of Poe’s grasp. “You have to go."

Poe straightens, and blinks. “Why?” he says, and feels the hair at the back of his neck go up. “What’s—"

“Finn?” comes a voice — young, female — from deep within the room. The sound of heels on the floor, and the bottom of Poe’s stomach drops out. “Oh, hello,” says Rey Kingsley, Finn’s  _Thursday Next_  costar, entering the foyer and looking ridiculously beautiful in a navy shirt, fitted khakis, and a cream blazer. "Who are you?"

“I—“ Poe hazards a quick look at Finn, who’s looking too guilty to be any help at all. “Room service,” he says, off the top of his head, and tries not to panic about how bad a choice that was.

“You’re not wearing a uniform,” she points out, not quite accusatory, but obviously curious.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding to himself. “Yeah, you  — that is a good point. I just...clocked out. But I just — figured I’d swing by before I go, see if you needed anything. Since you just — got in?”

“That’s so kind of you,” she says, sweet and sincere, as she walks over to Finn. “Are you getting something?"

Finn just shakes his head, glancing over at Poe again, and then down at the ground. It’s almost hilarious, how obviously he doesn’t want to meet Poe’s eyes.

Rey laughs a little, and nudges Finn’s ribs with her elbow.

“So, good surprise or bad surprise?” she says, and Finn — blinks, seems to return to reality. Turns to look at her, and manages a quick, bright smile.

“Good surprise."

“You’re _such_ a bad liar,” she chortles, wrapping her arms around Finn’s neck. Gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and then turns to Poe. "He’s such a bad liar, he _loathes_ surprises."

“I can't imagine why,” Poe says, sharper than he intends, and Finn flinches, broadly enough that Rey might’ve noticed it. Poe tries not to care. “Well,” he says instead, forcing his own smile. “Is there anything I can get you?"

“Mm, cup of tea?"

“I’ve got tea,” says Finn, and they both look at him. He scrunches up his nose, looks straight into Rey’s eyes. “In the kitchen. I’ve got tea."

“Oh,” she says, and shrugs. Glances back at Poe, and smiles. “Then I’m all set, I suppose. Sorry to have wasted your time."

He gives her a quick salute. “No problem at all,” he says, and then steps back, into the hallway. “Have a good night."

*

He’s almost to the elevators — _one step after the other, don’t think about it, just go, go, go_ — when he hears someone jogging up behind him.

“Wait, Poe, wait —"

Poe, against his better judgment, does. Turns around, keeps still as Finn bounds up to him. Stops short, about a step away. Looks at him, swallows, and then throws himself at Poe.

Hugs him, hard, tucking his face up against Poe’s neck, bringing the soft, clean scent of him everywhere. Poe can barely even concentrate on how angry he is at Finn, because of how close he is, how good he smells, how warm he feels.

Poe pulls away before he can do anything stupid, and Finn lets him go. They’re eye to eye again, breathless, speechless. Finn opens his mouth, and Poe just shakes his head.

 _“_ I’m sorry,” Finn says anyway, almost defiantly.

“It’s fine,” Poe lies, turns around, and walks away.

 

 

 

 

*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Poe—"_
> 
> _“Yeah?"_
> 
> _Snap sighs. “You’re not too much. But you — you put everyone on a pedestal, and we spend our lives worried we’re not living up to—what you see in us."_
> 
> _Poe looks up at him. “Is that true?"_
> 
> _Snap shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, and then grins, leaning over to ruffle Poe’s hair. “Get some sleep, Squirt._
> 
> _“Oh my god."_

It isn’t fine, obviously, but Poe deals with it. 

He’s dealt with worse, frankly. And after the first few — mopey, mood, unreasonably bitter — days, he realizes, he’s not actually even that angry at Finn.

Finn’s not wrong to be scared. He’s not wrong to be worried about what it could mean for his career. He’s not wrong for wanting to take his time figuring out who he is. And it’s not like he and Poe had any kind of discussion about it — it’s not like he and Poe _were dating_.

They kissed. A few times. Almost had sex. Whatever. There’s lots of people Poe’s almost had sex with — a fair number of people he _has_ had sex with — and retained perfectly cordial relationships or at least feelings for after.

Finn cheating on his girlfriend is — not great. But Finn is young and figuring stuff out and Poe actually knows very little about his relationship with Rey, so maybe they’ve talked about it, maybe it’s an open situation, maybe Finn is allowed to make a mistake or two in his life without being a horrible person.

In the end, it’s none of Poe’s business, and he’s determined to stop thinking about it.

It’s easier said than done.

*

“Hey,” says Kylo, kicking at his leg. Hard, and Poe flinches, glaring up at him.

“What the _hell_?"

“What’s wrong with you?"

“I have a shitty roommate that enjoys committing battery,” Poe says, rubbing at his thigh. Kylo drops down on the couch next to him, and scowls back.

“Yeah, I mean _besides_ that.”

Poe rolls his eyes, and Kylo shoves him again. “Hey!"

“Spill, Dameron. Is this a boy trouble thing?"

“Okay first, don’t call it that,” Poe says, holding up a finger. “And second….” yeah, he’s out. Maybe he _does_ want to talk about this.

Kylo smirks. “So it is boy trouble."

“I swear to god—“ Kylo nudges him again. Jostles the hell out of him, so Poe scoots over on the couch, and sighs. “Okay, _fine_. I was — seeing a guy. And I knew it — wouldn’t work. I _knew_ it — it was really complicated, and he’s from out of town, but I thought we could be — friends. But then I got — I had feelings, for him. And then he — well. It didn’t work out."

“Is it me?"

“Oh my _god_ ,” Poe says, and goes to get up.

“No, sorry, I’m kidding, come back —“ Kylo grabs his arm and pulls him back onto the couch.

“ _Seriously_?"

“Listen,” Kylo says, pointing a finger right in his face. “You are hot shit. People like you — like half the people who go to your store? Just want to bone you. I’m not even gay, and I look at you sometimes, and I’m like — "

“Please don’t —“

“I’m just saying. If you ever wanted to —"

“I really wouldn’t."

“Poe,” he says, and reaches out, dropping one hand to his shoulder. “If he’s not into you, he’s an idiot. That’s all I’m saying."

Poe takes that in. “You know that’s…that’s actually really nice of you, Kylo,” he says, because, strangely, it is. Doesn’t make him feel a lot better, but at least he’s trying.

“I mean seriously though, a huge dumbass. Like I _know_ you put out, and from what I’ve heard, you’re a great fucking lay—"

“Okay,” Poe says, and stands up. “I’m going to bed."

“Do you want me to—"

“No!”

*

The worst thing is, he thinks about it.

Not seriously, obviously, but in a sad, curious, drunk on loneliness and disappointment and two shitty beers kind of way. But Kylo’s even sort of okay sometimes, and he’s not bad looking, and—

 _God_ , he groans. Is this what he’s come to?

He sits up and flips on the light. BB8, who’s lying quietly in her crate, lifts her head immediately. Poe pats at the side of the mattress and gives a low whistle. BB8 doesn’t need to be told twice — she scrambles from the crate, trots up to the bed, and jumps up. A jumble of bony elbows and orange fur and heavy feet, but Poe has to laugh.

She curls up against Poe’s side, tucking her face against her tail, and looking over at Poe with her bright brown eyes.

“Love you too, sweetheart,” he says, and flips off the light.

*

A week goes by.

He opens the shop. He closes the shop.

He rearranges the used books he’s been collecting in anticipation of a new section. He talks to customers and forces smiles that, going by Oddy’s increasingly concerned looks, do him no real favors. He stops trying, and sadly, the grumpy melancholia in a dark sweater vibe seems to pull even more people in off the street. They do better business than this time last year, anyway.

He gives Oddy the afternoon off on Saturday and fully leans into it, sitting behind the counter and sighing as he flips through the GQ with Finn on the cover — there’s a profile of him which Poe skims idly till he has to close up and drag himself up to Snap and Karé’s for dinner. Stops by the house first, picking up BB8, in the hope she’ll get most of the attention instead of him.

*

“You didn’t know he had a girlfriend?” says Snap, incredulous.

Poe sighs. BB8, the traitor, is flopped over by Snap and Karé’s radiator, chewing on her Kong and taking up exactly none of the assorted group’s attention, while Poe is in the middle of Snap and Karé’s couch and being stared at by literally everyone in the room.

“No!” Poe says, and looks around at everyone else. “Did you?” They all exchange looks that say _well duh_ , and he groans, drops his head back into his hands. “Great. My life ruined because I don’t keep up with the hot celebrity goss." 

“Okay don’t say hot celebrity goss _ever_ again,” says Rose, but reaches over to rub at his shoulder. “But it’s totally not your fault. He should’ve said something."

“He probably thought I knew,” Poe says, realizing this for the very first time, and starting to feel like even more of a fool than before.

“That’s not the point,” says Suralinda, coming over to Poe’s other side. “He should’ve been honest with you."

“He was honest with me,” Poe says, weakly. Everyone gives him looks of varying degrees of pity, and he shakes his head. “No, I mean — I told him I didn’t have any expectations. And y’know, it wasn’t — we weren’t even at the _dating_ part, much less the — exclusive dating conversation."

“Poe —"

“Please don’t say _I told you so_.”

“I’m not going to say I told you so,” Suralinda says. “But I am — _but I am_ going to say: you deserve better than this. You deserve someone that’s going to be honest with you, and like you, and treat you properly. And you know what? Finn was not that guy. But that’s okay. We’re gonna find you someone."

*

Which, again: easier said than done.

It’s not like Poe hadn’t dated before, occasionally, when the circumstances were right.

But in the next few weeks, he gets set up with every male identified and even slightly sexually fluid individual within his immediate circle, and he kind of begins to wonder why his friends were holding out on him before. Maybe if he’d gotten introduced to these many former male models or current wealthy philanthropists or totally built mechanics pre-Finn, he might not have had these problems.

As it is, nothing seems to take.

The closest they get is a total accident: C’ai is an old friend of Suralinda’s, up in New York to interview at the Times. He’s older — maybe forty, but Poe doesn’t ask — slightly balding, with big ears and a big nose and nice, expansive hands that he waves around when he talks.

He talks a lot, but he listens, too — he takes down all of Poe’s restaurant recommendations, the best places in Central Park, the value of the Brooklyn Museum. He wants to hear all about the shop too, apparently fascinated by the ins and outs of retail. Poe notices Snap, Karé, and Suralinda watching him — the way he’s smiling, the way he’s biting at his bottom lip, the way he’s watching C’ai’s hands move.

He knows what it looks like. He hopes it’s maybe enough to put them off for a while, and when the evening comes to an end, he takes C’ai up on the offer to walk him home.

It’s gotten really, properly cold in the past few weeks, and something about the chill in the air makes the company all the more appreciated. Poe’s warm from the wine and the exercise and C’ai smiles at him a lot, apparently thoroughly charmed by whatever it is Poe’s putting out.

“This is me,” says Poe, when they reach the brownstone.

“Wow,” C’ai looks up at the house.

Poe gives a quick self-effacing shrug — he’s not in the mood to go into the details — and nods up at the door. “You wanna come in? For coffee or something?"

C’ai gives him a quick smile. “Love to, but I’m on an early train home."

Poe smiles back. “Okay. Well,” he holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you."

C’ai takes it — his hand is warm, even through the two layers of glove separating their palms. Poe takes a step closer, and C’ai looks down at him, with serious, dark brown eyes.

“I kind of—" C’ai scrunches up his nose, and sighs. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong. But I kind of want to kiss you."

“Only kind of?” Poe says, tilting his head up a little, chewing at his bottom lip. Doesn’t quite flutter his eyelashes, but considers it.

C’ai laughs and leans in, a quick, almost friendly peck that melts into something warm and soft and full of promise.

They’re both smiling when they pull back.

“You’re very cute,” says C’ai, running his fingers over Poe’s carefully tied scarf.

“So I’ve heard,” he flirts, because why not, at this point, and C’ai chuckles. Gives the ends of Poe’s scarf a quick, playful tug.

“How are you still single?"

Poe has to laugh. _How indeed_. “Long story. Very — long, and so, so boring."

“I love a good long and boring story,” says C’ai, with the confidence of man who’s heard a fair few. “Maybe you could tell it to me next time I’m in town."

“Maybe,” says Poe, and tries — so, so hard — to make himself believe it. He smiles, and C’ai smiles back.

“See you, then,” C'ai says, with a quick, awkwardly endearing wave, and then stays put. Waiting for him to go up the stairs, Poe realizes, and laughs.

“Good night,” he says.

“Get home safe,” C’ai calls, and Poe has to laugh, even as he unlocks the door to the brownstone and steps inside.

“Wow you _really_ don’t have a type, do you?” Kylo says, around a mouthful of cheese — the full block of which is still in his hand — as he peeks out the window, apparently watching C’ai walk away. “Guy’s gotta be what, fifty?"

“He’s _forty_ ,” says Poe, who has literally no idea. “What do you care, anyway?"

Kylo shrugs. “Just curious."

*

 He goes to dinner at Karé and Snap’s the next week.

It’s just the three of them this time, which is exactly what Poe needs — a quiet dinner for once, no talk about his dwindling prospects like he’s a heroine in a Jane Austen novel. They mostly leave him alone, even, letting the discussion drift back and forth between the shop and the apartment and whatever absurd thing Kylo’s done lately, and then Snap brings out his award winning chocolate bundt cake, and it’s all working out to be the best Saturday night Poe’s had for a while, or at least the most normal.

That is, until: “So how’s C’ai?” from Snap, as Karé nods eagerly, all gently suggestive eyebrows.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” says Poe, already wondering how long he has to stay to keep from looking rude.

Both Karé and Snap sigh, and exchange a particularly infuriating _married_ look.

“So you haven’t talked to him since last week?"

“He hasn’t talked to me, either,” which isn’t exactly true — C’ai had texted him a link to a review of a new Italian restaurant in the East Village with a question mark, and Poe had answered _I haven’t been….yet_ 😉, because he’s still got it. At least some of it. Well, about as much of it as he’s ever had.

Snap and Karé exchange another one of those _oh you sad, single idiot_ looks and Poe — can’t, anymore. “What do you two _want_ from me, here?”

“We just want you to be happy,” says Snap.

“Why?” Poe snaps. "You feelin’ guilty about something there, buddy?”

There’s a pause. Both Karé and Snap stare at him, and Poe sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is — the key to being friends with exes is to not pick at that wound, and Poe’s always been adamant about staying friends with exes. “I didn’t mean that,” he adds, which is less true, but he doesn’t want to make two of his best friends feel like shit just because he can’t keep it together. “I just don’t think I’m ready."

“I get that,” says Karé, and wheels close to him. “But I think you’re letting yourself get hung up on him, and it’s not ‘cause of _him_ — it’s ‘cause you don’t want to be out there."

“So maybe I don’t want to be out there,” says Poe, simply. “And I’m not hung up on him."

Snap and Karé make basically identical _oh really?_ faces and Poe has to laugh.

“I’m not,” he insists. “I don’t — I’m not expecting Finn to just — show up at my door one of these days, saying he’s going to give up his beautiful girlfriend who’s apparently super nice and also won’t cost him his entire career, just to, I don’t know, fuck around with me for a couple of months till he gets bored because I am, as you know, hugely boring.”

 “You’re not _hugely_ boring,” says Snap. “Just a little. You know, sometimes. And it’s in this really cute, nerdy professor way."

“Okay,” Poe shrugs, because he’s not looking for a pep talk. “But I’m just — I’m just saying. You two don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to — you don’t get how hard it is. To find someone you love, who can love you back, for it to _work_. And I’m — y’know, oh for three, right? That I thought I had it, that I had the…the _right person_ , but was just — wrong, so many times. Oh my god,” he says, realizing. “Suralinda’s right. I have shit taste."

“You don’t have shit taste,” says Snap, but Karé won’t quite meet his eyes, and rolls back away from him and toward Snap.

Poe shakes his head, and holds out his hand. “One dead — no one’s fault but the United States Air Force, so, y’know, not on me, except for joining in the first place,” he counts off. “One ditched the moment things got tough, that’s on me for thinking I could get a commitment-phobe to settle down; and then there’s the one who was in love with someone else the whole time we were dating, totally in denial about it, and needed _me_ to break up with _him_ because—"

“Hey!” Snap says, as if this is not a fair characterization. “I would’ve said something eventually!"

“When, at the altar?”

“Before then. Rehearsal dinner, at _worst_."

Poe snorts. “Well, saved you the deposit, I guess,” he says, suddenly struck by fact that talking about it hasn’t entirely shredded him — it’s strange to know he is over it, after all.

“Okay, well, this is a great trip down memory lane for us all,” says Karé, who seems mostly amused at hearing her husband and his ex boyfriend hash at least some of their shit out. “But I’m gonna go get some coffee."

“I’ll come with you,” says Snap, because they’re obviously going to go talk about Poe in the kitchen, while he sits on their couch like the perpetual third wheel he is. “Stay put,” he adds, pointing at Poe.

“Where else would I go?” Poe says, more to himself than anyone else, and lets his head fall back against the back of the couch.

*

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” says Snap, handing him a pile of blankets — Poe’d been slow to leave and they’d done the nightcap thing, and it’s late enough that it makes at least some kind of sense for him to spend the night, without any of them having to articulate the awkward _it’s probably not great for you to be alone right now_ subtext.  

“Did you ever think about me? After we broke up, I mean?"

“Oh, wow,” says Snap. “You mean like —"

“No!” says Poe, though kinda — he doesn’t know why he’s asking, really, except that they’re talking about this more than they have in years, and a part of him — his delicate, oft-ignored vanity — does wonder, and he’s maybe just drunk enough and maybe just sad enough to want to know the answer.

“Well, I was never that into you, really,” Snap says, and Poe groans, going to bury his head in one of the couch pillows. “I mean you’re beautiful and sexy as hell—“

“Oh my _god_ ,” Poe says, because this is literally his nightmare.

“—but you’re so goddamn intense, all that—“ Snap mimics hands coming up to cradle his own face. “— _look at me, look at me_ stuff, y’know, it was—“ he scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. “A little much."

Poe throws a pillow at him, and which he bats away, laughing, and then comes to sit down next to him.

Poe looks at him. “Is that really why?"

“Why what?"

“Why we didn’t work out? I was too — was I too much?"

Snap looks at him, and reaches out, places a careful hand on his arm. “Poe..."

“I mean, I know you — I know you loved Karé before, and I was just — a rebound…thing."

“You were not a _rebound_ ,” says Snap. “For fuck’s sake, Poe."

“Oh come on,” Poe says, leaning back on the couch. “First relationship after the two of you broke up, and you just — went with everything I said? Including getting engaged, which was, we can both agree, dumb as hell, because you were still—“ he sighs. “Okay. Look. Not the point. Would we — would it have worked out? If you weren’t in love with someone else — would we have had a chance?" 

“Poe—"

“Yeah?"

Snap sighs. “You’re not too much. But you — you put everyone on a pedestal, and we spend our lives worried we’re not living up to—what you see in us."

Poe looks up at him. “Is that true?"

Snap shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, and then grins, leaning over to ruffle Poe’s hair. “Get some sleep, Squirt. 

“Oh my _god_."

*

They stop setting him up on dates. 

Poe’s more than all right with that. He settles back into his routine — sad as it was, simple as it was, at least it was _his._ The shop is doing well, a lot better than last year, good enough that he takes on another employee — Kaz is at NYU and _very_ enthusiastic, in a very teenaged way that reminds Poe, rather unfortunately, of himself — and between him and Oddy, Poe manages a day or two off a week, which he mostly uses to clean the brownstone and reorganize his own bookshelves, picking out a couple of used copies of things he might end up selling in the shop.

His dad comes down for Thanksgiving, while Kylo — under threat of disinheritance, probably — goes to his parents’ house.

Kes Dameron is his quiet, steady self, a reassuringly stable presence in Poe’s life for the few days he’s in town — something about having his dad around just makes Poe devolve a little, not necessarily to the intense and idealistic military brat years, but to a time when things were a little easier, when it was just him and his dad and whatever adventure in the great outdoors Kes was in the mood to drag Poe out into.

It’s a little different in the city — Kes is perpetually unimpressed with Central Park, possibly for good reasons— but they take a day trip to Queens and the World’s Fair grounds, and walk the High Line, and go see a movie at the new Alamo Drafthouse in Brooklyn.

It’s a good visit, and when he sees his dad off at the bus stop in Washington Heights he wonders, not for the first time, whether it might be a good idea to move upstate with him. BB8 would love to have a whole yard to run around in, at least, and his dad probably needs help on the farm, though he’d never ask for it.

He comes back to an empty house — Kylo’s still gone, won’t be back till Tuesday — and feels the weight of the world come crashing down. Makes sure to feed BB8 and take her out for a walk before he collapses, but only just.

*

It’s the last week of November and the city is freezing and Poe’s at the end of his rope with Kylo, who’d come back from his trip to his parents house with a ton of leftovers which he threw, unsecured, into the refrigerator, resulting in cranberry sauce leaking all over the shelves.

He goes to work in a weird mood, and finds Oddy and Kaz already there, having some sort of silent standoff that Poe is almost reluctant to interrupt.

“What’s up?” he says, cautiously.

“My morning class was cancelled. I was wondering if you needed some _help_ this morning."

“ _I’m_ the help this morning,” says Oddy. “Poe scheduled me."

“Only because I had class! And now I don’t!"

“Okay, well,” Poe starts. “We don’t really need three people here. Don’t you want to just take a break? Catch up on…sleep? Homework? "

“I need the hours,” Kaz says, immediately, and Poe caves.

“Fine."

“But—“ Oddy starts, looking wounded.

Poe shakes his head. “No, I mean, you guys can stay. I’ll, uh — work from home, today,” or he can curl up with BB8 and pretend he’s glad to have a day off. “Let me know if you need anything."

“You got it, boss!” says Kaz, brightly, and throws Poe a sharp salute. Poe sighs, and returns it. Shares a quick _just be cool_ look with Oddy before he goes; Oddy rolls his eyes in return, but nods.

He steps back out into the street, winding his scarf back around his neck, and goes home.

*

He’s home for all of twenty minutes and about half way through a container of yogurt when the doorbell rings. _God_ , if Kylo’s forgotten his key _yet again_...

He walks down the hall, spoon still in his mouth, bare feet cold on the wooden floor, and throws open the door, fully prepared to chew out his idiot roommate.

What he sees instead is Finn Amadi, in a surprising amount of disheveled glory, standing on his stoop.

“Hi,” Finn says, from behind his usual dark glasses. “Can I come in?"

 

 

 

 

 

*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh, for fuck’s sake, go away,” he says, not bothering to roll over and look at Kylo’s face._
> 
> _“Oh,” says a voice that is decidedly not Kylo’s. “Oh, right. Sorry. Sorry, I just—"_
> 
> _Shit, Poe thinks, and sits up. “No, I thought — sorry, come here, sit —“ he pats the couch cushion next to him and reaches up to flip on the overhead light. “Sorry,” he says, again. “I thought you were Kylo."_
> 
> _Finn makes a face but sits down. “Dunno how I feel about that."_
> 
> _“Understandable,” Poe says, taking a breath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of two chapters where i borrow exact dialogue from _Notting Hill_ , mostly because coming up with movie military technobabble is hard.

Poe swallows. “Um,” he says, blinking desperately. “Sure. Yeah. Come in.”

He moves aside, and Finn slides by him. He’s not dressed for the weather, Poe realizes — he’s got on a sweater with a white shirt peeking out from underneath, and dark jeans, but no coat or jacket or gloves.

“Are you okay?” Poe says, shutting the door. Finn whirls around, and gapes at him.

“Am I— am I _okay_?” he says, sharp, taking off his glasses. Stares at Poe for what legitimately feels like a minute, and then blinks. Laughs — a low, wounded sound. “Christ,” he says, incredulous. “You don’t know. You really don’t—You haven’t — you haven’t seen it."

“Seen what?"

“ _Christ_ ,” Finn says, reaching for something in his pocket. And then — hesitates. Poe sees a thought flicker in his eyes, a strange, calculated expression on his face. Then he shakes his head, and pulls out his phone. Types something in, and gives another baffled, cynical chuckle as something loads. He hands it over to Poe, who puts his yogurt down on the side table before glancing at the screen.

It’s a google search — _finn amadi sex tape —_ and the first result, in glowing blue text and accompanied with a grainy thumbnail screen cap, reads _Finn Amadi: Gay for Pay or Just For Play? [Video]_

He looks up at Finn. “Holy shit,” he says, and Finn nods, slowly.

“Yeah,” Finn says. “That's about right."

*

He ushers Finn into the living room. BB8 trots up to them, nudging at Finn’s legs with her big head, but Poe shoos her off for the time being — Finn looks strangely calm, sort of glazed over, like he may very well be in shock, and Poe doesn’t want to startle him.

Poe guides him over toward the couch, gently pushes on his shoulder to get him to sit. Finn does, and then looks up at him, as if surprised about how he got there.

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna get you something to drink,” he says. “Okay?"

Finn stares at him, and then nods.

Poe goes, pouring the last of the orange juice into a glass, and tries to return at a measured, considered pace. “Here,” he says, and Finn takes it. Drinks it down, steadily, and hands Poe back the glass when he’s done.

“Hi,” he says, weakly.

“Hi,” Poe says.

“I should’ve called."

“Don’t worry about that,” Poe says, though as far as things to worry about right now go, maybe a minor social faux pas would be welcome.

“No, I meant — after the hotel. After — with Rey. Shoulda talked to you."

“I told you — I told you it was fine,” says Poe. “And I could’ve called too. It’s not like I lost your number.” Just deleted it from his phone, but Finn doesn’t need to know that right now, or ever. “I didn’t know you were back in New York,” he adds, trying to change the subject.

“I wasn’t,” says Finn, still preternaturally calm. “I was in Toronto when—it—everything— broke. My manager wanted me to come down, we’ve been — they’ve been figuring out how to spin it since then. Sent a private plane for me and everything. And then I was in that room, listenin’ to them talk about me, about — like I wasn’t even there. Like I didn’t even have a bloody— a voice. Like I didn’t have a say in it."

“Buddy—"

“God, it’s so — so bloody stupid. Whole thing’s just — so bloody stupid. I was a kid, all right? Just turned eighteen. I needed — headshots, and he said he’d — he’d do them for free. Knew that was — knew it’d end up costin’ me _something_ , but I thought I could handle it. Thought it’d—it’d be all right. And it was. He just — just wanted to take pictures of me. Promised they wouldn’t show my face, and he was —“ Finn takes a breath, deep and steadying. “Kept his word. I made him show them to me, and they were all — you couldn’t tell it was me, I made sure of that."

“But?"

Finn shoulders slump, even as he brings his hands to his face. “There’s the video. Not just of me. Of — him,” Finn’s breaths are coming short and sharp now, and Poe feels the bottom of his stomach fall out. “Of him touching me."

“Finn,” Poe says, getting down onto the floor in front of him, trying to meet his gaze.

Finn looks up and drops his hands to his lap. “Wasn’t like that, I mean, it wasn’t — “ he makes a face. “Wasn’t like he forced me. I wanted him to.” Poe’s not about to tell him otherwise, but he must react, because Finn frowns at him. “I did. It wasn’t bad — it was — he didn’t even — didn’t even make _me_ do anythin’. To him, I mean. Didn't even kiss me. Just —“ Finn makes a quick, unmistakable hand gesture, and lets out a breath. “I liked it. When it happened, I didn’t feel — didn’t feel like it was anythin’ wrong. Never did anythin’ like that again, but I didn’t — didn’t feel _violated_ or anything. Not back then."

“But you didn’t know about the video."

Finn shakes his head. “If I’d—“ Takes another breath, lets it out. “He died a couple of months ago. Looks like they were — they were cleanin’ out his studio. One of his assistants found it. Figured they’d — they’d get some good money out of it.”

“Oh my god,” Poe can’t help but say, then shakes his head. “Finn,” he says, and reaches out again, wanting to comfort him but not sure if he should touch him right now. Finn catches his eye and gives a tiny, quick nod, and Poe rests his hands on Finn’s arms. “I’m so sorry. This is so shitty, and you don’t deserve it. No one deserves it."

Finn lets out a long, shaky breath, and drops his gaze again. “Yeah,” he says, soft. Glances up again, dark eyes bright. “Didn’t know what to do. Had to get out of there, and I thought — thought of you."

“I’m glad you did,” says Poe. “You can stay here as long as you want. Till it blows over, till you’re ready to deal with it. Whatever you need. You might want to let your manager know, I guess, but—"

“I did,” Finn says. “Texted her on my way here. She’s not happy about it, but….” Finn shrugs. “There’s worse places I could be."

Poe lets out a nervous huff of laughter, trying not to think about what they might be. Realizes he’s on his knees in front of Finn, hands still on his arms, looking up at him like — well. He should get up, if only to save his knees from the inevitable aches that come from being past his _kneeling-on-wood-floors_ days.

“Can I get you anything?” he says, standing up, turning toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” he offers. “Or you could use a shower? Or, uh, take a nap in my room, you look —"

“Poe,” he says, and Poe turns back around, to find Finn back on his feet, looking at him, then at the ground.

“Yeah?"

“Just—“ he looks so lost that Poe can’t help himself.

Closes the distance between them, wraps his arms around Finn. Finn practically collapses against him, tucking his face into the side of Poe’s neck. Shaking, a little, and Poe rubs his back, strokes the back of his head.

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.” He feels Finn shake his head, and tries to project a certain amount of perhaps unjustified confidence. “I promise.”

“Oh my _god_ , Poe, another one?” says Kylo, as he stomps by, apparently enthralled enough on his cell phone that he doesn’t even notice who it is Poe’s hugging, or the fact that Poe flips him off as he goes clomping up the stairs in his heavy black boots.

Finn pulls back. Gives Poe a very particular sort of look — questioning, like he’s about to ask something — and then shakes his head, and says: “I could...use a shower.”

“Then a shower you shall have,” Poe says, and guides him down the hall. Throws the bathroom down open and waves ceremonially at its ocean green tiled glory. “Use whatever you want, you could even take a bath, I think we’ve got — a bath bomb somewhere around here."

“Great,” says Finn, soft and distant, as he looks around. “I, uh — didn’t bring anything. Except my phone, which’s about to die. Christ, I didn’t even bring a charger.”

“I’ve got a charger,” says Poe. “And I’ve got clothes, I think we’re — basically the same size,” except for how much better shape Finn’s in, but who’s keeping score.

Finn’s looking at him again, almost suspiciously. But then he smiles — small but seemingly sincere — and nods to himself. “Thank you,” he says.

“No worries,” says Poe, and leaves before he makes the whole thing anymore awkward, and also because he needs as much time as possible to track Kylo down and implement some immediate boundaries.

He considers, for a moment, how long he could go without ever having to introduce them properly — Kylo mostly doesn’t care what goes on in the house unless it affects his tv watching habits or his occasional trips to the kitchen, and has twice now failed to recognize Finn in fairly close quarters.

But his luck would run out sooner or later, he knows, so he heads straight to Kylo’s room, knocks once, calls out “I’m coming in!”, and does so.

Kylo’s not naked, at least, but he does have his laptop _and_ his pants open, so, that’s great. Poe stares up at the ceiling for a moment as Kylo adjusts himself, and tries to ignore the slightly musty smell.

“What?” says Kylo.

“I have Finn Amadi downstairs."

Kylo blinks at him. “What?"

“The actor. I— we met at the bookstore. And we’ve hung out a few times. We’re friends?” Poe wishes it sounded like less of a question, but that’s where he is about it. “He needs a place to stay."

“Because of the sex tape?” Kylo says, choosing _right now_ to show any kind of awareness of other people for maybe the first time ever.

Poe pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, because of the sex tape.” He opens his eyes again, and Kylo is gaping at him. “Can you be cool about this?” As if he doesn’t know the answer, but it’s worth a shot — his Plan B is to smuggle Finn upstate to his dad’s place indefinitely, but that would involve explaining the situation _to_ his dad, and renting a car, and he’d rather not complicate things if he doesn’t have to.

Kylo is still giving him a really weird, almost wounded look, like Poe suggesting he _wouldn’t_ be cool is grounds for offense and not an entirely accurate assumption based on their history together. Poe rubs at the back of his neck and tries to appeal to his better nature. “Just — think of all the times on the campaign with your mom. How much it sucked to have reporters all in your face."

Kylo seems to consider this, and, after a moment, he shrugs. “Whatever."

“You’ll be cool?"

“Yeah, I’ll be cool."

“Great!” says Poe, and exits before they can discuss the parameters of that further. A mistake, probably, but he needs to get Finn some clothes. BB8 trots up to him as he’s rummaging through his drawers for a decent enough t-shirt, sweatpants, and underwear. “Yeah, we’re helping Finn out!” he says, brightly, as he gathers everything up. BB8 gives him a broad, doggy smile, tongue out and eyes curious. Trails him as he makes his way back downstairs and knocks on the bathroom door.

“You decent?” he calls out.

“Close enough,” Finn calls back, wry. “Come in if you'd like."

Poe does. Is hit by a wall of steam, and blinks it out of his eyes as he takes in Finn, wrapped in Poe’s bathrobe, rubbing a towel over his head.

“Hey,” he says, and holds out the clothes.

Finn takes them with a nod of thanks, and Poe goes to leave, give him the privacy he needs.

“You can stay,” says Finn, casual, and Poe’s not going to make a big deal out of it and insist he shouldn’t. He stays turned away, however, and only turns back when Finn reaches out and touches his shoulders. “How do I look?” he asks.

“Great,” says Poe, suddenly too nervous to be anything but honest — he’s in a steamy bathroom with Finn Amadi, who’s wearing his clothes and standing close enough for Poe to notice that he smells like his soap. Poe’s not sure what kind of incredibly inappropriate but entirely intoxicating fantasy he’s suddenly slipped into.

BB8 scratching at the door jolts him out of it. He opens the door, and she rushes in, circling Finn and bumping her head against his knees as the steam pours out of the bathroom and the cold air rushes in.

“Hi there,” Finn says, warm, as he watches her. “BB8, right?"

“Yeah, that’s her,” Poe says, and whistles. “C’mere, baby,” he pats at his own thigh. “Good girl, let’s leave Finn alone right now, okay?"

“Don’t listen to him, BeeBee,” Finn says, crouching to pet her head. “No need to leave Finn alone right now,” he says, mostly to her, but looks up at Poe. “Unless you want to."

“She doesn’t want to,” Poe says, automatically, and then ducks his head. “She can, uh, keep you company while I — go find you a charger.” He sees Finn straighten, and gets the feeling he’s about to speak, and so he bolts.

Barely manages a “Be right back,” before he goes.

Not his finest hour, ultimately.

*

By the time he comes downstairs, charger in hand, he’s entirely prepared to be an actual adult about the situation. Finn, meanwhile, is on the couch and being entertained by BB8, who’s been bringing him all of her toys, probably to show off how spoiled she is. Finn makes admiring noises for each one, and Poe’s heart stutters, just a little, at how sweet he is.

“Hey,” he says, and waves the charger through the air. “Where’s your phone?"

Finn reaches for his pockets, then shakes his head. “Think I left it in the kitchen,”  he says, and rises, even as Poe shakes his head and opens his mouth to say he’ll get it.

They’re suddenly in each other’s space again, face to face, a few inches away. Poe ducks his head and Finn moves aside, sliding past him. Poe turns to follow, taking advantage of the fact Finn’s ahead of him to shake his head and roll his eyes at himself.

Finn finds his phone, and sits down at the table, holding his hand out for the charger, which Poe hands to him, and plugs it in.

Poe sits down at the table with him. “Can I —“ he starts, and stops, when Finn looks up at him. “Hi,” he says. “Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?"

Finn holds back a smile. “I’d take coffee if you’ve got it."

“Oh, I’ve got it,” says Poe, senselessly, and gets up to prepare it. He’s flipping on the electric kettle when he hears the familiar boots clomping down the steps.

“Hey,” says Kylo, stepping down into the kitchen. He nods at Finn. “I’m Kylo."

“Good to meet you,” says Finn, and then, pointedly, adds: “Finally."

“Uh-huh,” Kylo answers, and then says. “I’m going to get a pizza. Do you guys want in?"

“Always,” says Poe.

“Then pay up, Dameron.”

Poe gives a performative grumble, but fishes forty dollars out of his wallet and hands them to Kylo.

“Oh, big spender,” Kylo smirks. “You showing off or something?” he throws a very unsubtle glance at Finn, and laughs when Poe glares at him.

But he goes, at least, and Poe goes back to setting up the french press, stealing what he hopes are more subtle looks at Finn, who keeps fiddling with his phone and making pained faces at whatever he finds there.

Poe pours out two cups of coffee and sets them down on the table, along with two spoons and a sugar bowl, and then sits opposite Finn. Finn gives one last guilty look at his phone, and then flips it face down, on the table, leaving it there as it charges and he adds sugar to his coffee.

They drink in silence for a moment, and then Poe puts down his coffee. "Can I ask you something?” he says, nervously tapping at the handle.

“You can ask me anything you’d like," says Finn, open and trusting, which makes Poe feel especially like shit because of what he’s about to say.

"Have you talked to Rey?”

Finn winces, which is answer enough.

Poe chews nervously at his bottom lip — it’s really none of his business, but in the end, he can’t help himself. “I really think you should,” and then, should he need to state the obvious: "The longer you go without talking to her, the worse it’s going to be."

Finn sighs and looks down at the coffee in his hands. “We’re not dating, you know."

How Poe is supposed to know that when he'd just yesterday had to stock a copy of People Magazine with an insert of the two of them holding hands is beyond him, but he’ll cut Finn some slack right now. “Okay,” he says, and Finn look up at him again.

“I mean — we were. For a bit. It was good publicity, our manager encouraged it. But she was off in Istanbul, and I was in LA. ’s hard enough to keep a relationship goin’ in this business, with the hours, and then the distance — we were doin’ our best, but we’d mostly decided to take the time to think about things. Ended it officially about a month ago. She’s lovely, though. Bright, good person. The first person who’d ever really seen me. The real me, y’know?"

Poe thinks back on the way she’d looked at him, and the way Finn had looked at her, even beyond the blind mad panic he’d clearly been experiencing. “You like her a lot,” he ventures, wiggling at it like a loose tooth.

“I do."

“I hope you didn’t—“ Poe can’t believe he’s about to say it, but in a way he has to know. “I hope you didn’t break up with her because of me."

“I didn’t,” says Finn, looking up at his hands again. "She broke up with me."

And there it is. Poe can breathe easier, in a way, knowing that he hasn’t destroyed a relationship — it almost makes up for the rapidly deflating bubble that was his vanity in assuming he’d have any effect whatsoever on the relationship between two perfectly beautiful movie stars.

“I still think you should give her a call,” he says.

“Why?”

Poe sighs. “Because as far as anyone knows you’re still together, and she’s going to be getting questions about it,” he hesitates, and Finn looks at him like, _go on_. Poe cringes, but does. “And...she might have questions of her own. I mean, it’s — in an ideal world, y’know — it’s no one’s business but yours. But it’s not, and she’s a part of your story now, same as you’re a part of hers."

Maybe that works. Maybe Finn senses that it’s something Poe’s going to keep bringing up, and doesn’t want to deal with that. But he excuses himself to the living room while Poe goes upstairs to set up the bedroom — to make the bed, truth be told, and hastily clean up as much of the old books and buyer’s catalogues as he can. Takes longer than he needs to, and when he comes down Finn’s still on the phone, having a hushed but apparently not terrible conversation with Rey — he’s smiling a little, at least, though also rubbing his forehead a lot.

Poe heads to the kitchen to give him more space, and interrupts Kylo, who’s slammed the door shut and started stomping down the hall. Gets two pizza boxes shoved in his arms and a vague nod from Kylo, who takes the third box up to his room.

He takes the pizza back toward the kitchen — hears what sounds like mutual goodbyes being exchanged in the living room, and bustles around the kitchen, pulling out plates and napkins.

“Food’s here?” says Finn, poking his head in the kitchen. Poe nods, and smiles as BB8 trots past Finn and over to her bowl. She sits down, and gives him a steady, pointed look.

“Uh huh,” he says, to Finn, and goes to get the plastic container full of BB8’s food. “Help yourself,” he throws back over his shoulder, as he pours out a bowl full of kibble and sets it down on the floor.

“So,” Poe says, straightening up and retrieving a bottle of red wine from above the fridge. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” says Finn, and leaves it at that, shoving a piece of cheese pizza into his mouth in an obviously panicked effort to avoid answering any other questions.

Poe stifles a laugh, and pours him a glass of wine. Finn chews furiously and then reaches for it, gulps down about half of it, and gives Poe a wary look.

“So you were filming?” Poe says, more than willing to change the subject if Finn’s really that sensitive about it. “In Toronto?"

Finn shakes his head. “Hadn’t started yet. Just a couple of rehearsals. We’re supposed to start next week,” he drops his gaze again, fiddles with the crust of his pizza. “In theory."

“I could, um,” Poe clears his throat, takes another sip of his wine. “I could help you run lines, if you wanted."

“Would you? It’s a lot of —“ Finn makes a face, and uses his hands to mime _talk talk talk_.

“Sure,” says Poe. “Did you bring a copy?"

“It’s on my phone,” Finn says, and flips it back over, typing in the passcode and opening an app.  

“Hand it over,” Poe says, and Finn does. Poe looks down at the script — it’s still untitled, which is no help. “Basic plot?"

“Well, I'm a difficult but brilliant junior officer who’ll save the world from alien-induced nuclear disaster in about twenty minutes."

“Okay, so, a tale as old as time, then,” Poe says, and flicks to the first page.

*

"Message from command,” Poe reads. "Would you like them to send in the HKs?”

"No, turn over 4 TRS's and tell them we need radar feedback before the KFT’s return at 19 hundred,” Finn rattles off, American accent firmly in place, eyes focused on the paperweight he’s been fiddling with throughout, a half eaten slice of pizza mostly forgotten beside him. “Then inform the Pentagon that we'll be needing black star cover from ten hundred through 12.15,” he looks at Poe. “Don’t say one word about how many mistakes I made in that speech or I'll throw peppers at you."

"Very well, Captain — I'll pass that on right away."

"Thank you,” Finn says, and drops the accent. "How many mistakes did I make?"

“None."

Finn picks a slice of pepper of his pizza and toss it at Poe’s head. “Hey!” Poe says, swatting it out of the air. BB8 snatches it before it hits the ground, and Poe gives her a pat on the head.

“You’re no help to me if you’re going to lie,” says Finn, not sounding terribly upset about it.

“It’s called being _nice_ ,” Poe says. “Eleven."

“Fuck,” says Finn, and closes his eyes. Squares up his shoulders. “And Wainwright?"

“Cartwright."

Finn huffs. "Cartwright, Wainwright, whatever your name is, I promised my girl I'd be home for dinner tonight  — could you get a message through to Stacy that I may be a little late."

“Of course, sir. And what about Tracy?"

“My girlfriend’s name is Tracy?"

“Yup."

“Well, get a message through to her, too,” Finn blusters, more convincing than he should be.

“Brilliant,” says Poe. “Word perfect, I'd say."

“Oh, fuck off,” says Finn, and slouches down into his chair. “What do you think?"

“It’s good. Gripping. My dad’ll love it.”

“You don’t think it’s weird I tell my commanding officer to fuck off and then get a medal for it at the end?”

“Well,” says Poe. “I think you get the medal for the whole, saving the planet thing. Though your commanding officer was being a jerk, so maybe you should get a medal for that part, too.”

“You don’t think I’d be court martialed?”

“For telling a CO to fuck off? Eh." Poe shrugs. "I think the mutiny might be a bigger problem. Probably would’ve done the same, though.”

“Hah,” says Finn, ducking his head again. “Look, I know it’s not Shakespeare —"

“Hey, Shakespeare was a populist,” says Poe, fully aware that he’s on the verge of lecturing _an incredibly successful_ _English actor_ on _Shakespeare_. “Right? Writing for the lowest common denominator as much as the kings and queens of England. And this writer,” he flips back to the cover page, and winces. “Writers. They’re pretty good, too."

“You don’t exactly have Will Shakespeare writing anyone informing the Pentagon that they need black star cover,” Finn points out.

“Only because he didn’t know about it,” Poe says. “So in fact, these guys,” he nods at the phone. “These guys are one up on The Bard, if you ask me."

Finn snorts, and tosses another piece of green pepper at him. “You’re full of shit,” he says, fondly.

“So I’ve been told,” Poe says, and smiles back.

"And you're _good_ at this," says Finn, sounding slightly surprised. Poe's not sure how to take that.

"Running lines, you mean?"

Finn nods. “You ever do any acting?"

“Uh, not really," Poe says. "I was on a recruiting poster for a while.”

 “Oh, _really_?" Finn leans forward, grinning. “A literal poster boy, then?"

“Yeah, they uh...wanted me to do a video, too, but...” Poe shrugs. “I didn’t love the attention. And I’m not great at getting photographed. Filmed. Any of it." 

Finn’s expression changes — something sad and thoughtful flickers in his eyes — as he sits back. “Right, then,” he says, shaking his head. “Back to it.”

“Back to it,” Poe agrees.

*

They run a couple of more scenes and eat too much pizza, and then Poe pulls out a tub of cookies and cream ice cream. Finn groans but accepts the bowl Poe pushes into his hands.

“My personal trainer’s gonna kill me,” he says, taking a hefty spoonful.

Poe grins. “Just blame it on me."

“Oh, that was always the plan,” says Finn, taking another bite, and aiming a playful sort of kick at Poe’s leg from under the table.

Poe watches Finn dig in — he’d liked the pizza well enough to have several slices but the ice cream seems to genuinely delight him. He smiles a little after each bite, and Poe kind of can’t get over it.

“What?” Finn says, noticing the attention.

“Nothing,” says Poe, and drops his gaze.  His ice cream’s started to melt in the time he spent staring at Finn, which serves him right.

Finn’s phone buzzes, vibrating against the table, and Finn makes a low, unhappy sound.

Poe glances up at him: he’s looking at his phone again, like he’s just gotten a new message, and he’s frowning.

 _What’s wrong?_ or _everything okay?_ seem like colossally stupid things to say — it's not like he doesn't know the answers are _everything about celebrity culture_ and  _obviously_ _not_ , respectively _—_  but he can’t seem to think of anything better. Settles on a soft, careful “Finn?"

Finn blinks at his phone, and then just shakes his head. Pushes away his almost empty bowl, and tosses his phone back on the table, face up, close enough that Poe’s eyes catch on  the words _don’t be a fucking child_ before the phone locks itself.

He looks up at Finn, who’s pressed a hand to his forehead again and closed his eyes. “It’s all just,” he stops, and sighs. “It's so bizarre. I haven’t even — I’ve never even done a sex scene. In a proper film, I mean."

“Seriously?” Poe says, surprised in spite of himself — Finn’s very attractive, obviously, and he’s been shirtless on the covers of at least two magazines Poe’d masochistically flipped through over the past few months, so his image can’t _entirely_ be about buttoned up purity, but Poe isn’t exactly an expert on his whole filmography.

Finn shrugs. “Don’t quite get the romantic lead parts, do I?"

“You should,” says Poe, maybe a little too earnestly, and then goes for broke. “You’d be good at them."

Finn gives a weird sort of smile, which fades quickly.”Why aren’t you at the shop today?"

Poe blinks. “I took the day off."

“Can you just do that?"

“I’ve got an assistant manager. And an assistant to the assistant manager. Sort of.” Finn’s brow is furrowed, and Poe gives a helpless shrug. "They kind of hate each other. I’ve got no idea why, but it’s a whole thing, now."

Finn gives a weak chuckle, and glances it his phone again. Poe reaches over and flips it over again, leaves it face down on the table.

“C’mon,” he says, and stands up.

“C’mon where?” says Finn, already wary, but stands up too, and follows him, past the hall closet, where Poe grabs two coats, and up two flights of stairs — BB8 brings up the rear, trotting up to the roof with them.

It’s cold outside, as expected. Poe hands Finn one of the coats and slips on the other. The light is beginning to fade — Poe can’t believe it’s almost December, but there’s no denying the shorter days.

“I know it’s not much of a view,” Poe says, preemptively apologetic as he nods at the two lawn chairs he’s set up, ages ago. “But I like coming up here anyway. Just to get some fresh air, y’know?"

“It’s fine,” says Finn, sitting down, eyes already on the sky as it changes colors. BB8 flops down on Poe’s feet, and he strokes gently at her head.

Poe’s seen the sunset here plenty of times, so he keeps his eyes on Finn, watching as he seems to relax again, just a little.

“Where would you want to live?"

“Hm?

“If you could live anywhere,” Poe clarifies. “Where would you want to live?"

“Dunno,” says Finn. “Nowhere I’ve been, yet."

“Not LA?"

“Christ, no. Not New York, either — no offense."

“Some taken, frankly,” says Poe, and Finn snorts and rolls his eyes. “Not London either?"

“Dunno,” says Finn, thoughtful, looking up at the sky. “Maybe London."

“Tell me about it,” Poe says.

Finn turns to look at him.

“London,” Poe clarifies. “I’ve never been."

“Really?” Finn says, leaning back a bit in his chair. “Well. ’s big. Sprawling, I suppose, almost more than New York I think. Not as organized as Manhattan, not even in the City. None of the big avenues. Mostly little villages around the edges."

“Like here?” Poe half-jokes, and Finn snorts.

“A bit,” he concedes. “People’re different. That’s true anywhere, I suppose. You’d like it, I think.” He glances over at Poe again. “You should go some day."

“I’ll try."

“No, I mean it,” Finn says, suddenly animated. Turns to face Poe head on, to look him in the eye. “I could take you around. Could stay at my flat, if you’d like. Think I owe you as much, anyway."

A not insignificant part of Poe assumes he’ll never see Finn again after the _whatever-this-is_ of today wears off. But he’s not going admit that out loud, for fear of making it come true, so he forces a smile and tells the truth: “I’d like that."

*

They stay up on the roof for a while — anything to distract Finn from the phone that’s still sitting, face down, on Poe’s kitchen table — but eventually it’s too cold to be genuinely enjoyable, and Poe still needs to take BB8 out for a walk before they all turn in.

They wander back down to the second floor, and Poe points out his room. “You can take my room for the night,” he says.

Finn — hesitates, a moment, before offering him a quiet, “Thanks."

“Well, then,” Poe says. “I’m gonna go take Beebs for a walk, so —“ he gives an awkward little wave. “Good night, I guess."

Finn cocks his head and frowns. Narrows his eyes for a moment, and then shakes his head. “‘night. Thanks for the —“ he take a moment to consider, and then shrugs. “For everything."

“You’re welcome,” Poe says. “And y’know, come down and let me know if you need anything."

“I won’t,” says Finn, turns around, and goes into Poe’s room.

Well, fair enough.

Poe runs down stairs with BB8, clipping her leash on and grabbing a plastic bag before they jogs out the door. They do a couple of laps around the block, she does her business, and then they make their way back home.

A blast of warm air hits them both when they return. BB8 seems not to notice it, trots happily over to where her crate's been relocated in the living room. Poe trails her, plopping down on the couch, and checking his own phone, for the first time in what feels like all day.

There’s a voicemail from his dad, and he’s in the process of listening to it when Kylo slunks his way into the living room and gives him a genuinely surprised look.

“What are you doing here?"

“What do you mean what am I doing here? I’m sleeping here."

“Where’s Finn?"

“In my room."

Kylo looks at him like he may be the dumbest person on the planet. “But you…could sleep in your room…with him?"

“I don’t think that would be a good idea."

“Uh, no, ‘cause it'd be a _great_ idea,” says Kylo, counting off on his fingers. “He’s here. He likes you. He’s hot, I mean, that video?"

“Please don’t — "

Kylo continues as if he hadn’t heard Poe: “And you _know_ he’s down for it."

“Okay, shut up,” says Poe. “You don’t know that. I don’t know that. All anyone knows, from that video, is that he was taken advantage of when he was barely legal and it wasn’t even entirely consensual, so—"

“You haven’t watched it yet, have you?” says Kylo, with a slight leer. Poe refuses to speculate on what that might mean. “Because —"

“Kylo, I swear to god, you need to stop. You need to shut up, and you need to — not speak to him again, at all, if you’re going to — just leave it. Just leave it alone. It’s none of your business, it’s none of anyone else’s business."

Kylo rolls his eyes. “Wuss,” he says, and punches Poe’s arm before — thankfully — going away.

*

Poe’s turned all the lights off and is lying on the couch, in the process of typing out an email to Kaz and Oddy to decide between the two of them who might want the morning shift the next day, when he hears the floorboards in the hall creak.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, go _away_ ,” he says, not bothering to roll over and look at Kylo’s face.

“Oh,” says a voice that is _decidedly_ not Kylo’s. “Oh, right. Sorry. Sorry, I just—"

 _Shit_ , Poe thinks, and sits up. “No, I thought — sorry, come here, sit —“ he pats the couch cushion next to him and reaches up to flip on the overhead light. “Sorry,” he says, again. “I thought you were Kylo."

Finn makes a face but sits down. “Dunno how I feel about that."

“Understandable,” Poe says, taking a breath. “Are you okay? _Do_ you need something?"

Finn shrugs. “Not really,” he says, and gestures at Poe’s sleeping arrangements of two pillows and a blanket on the couch. “Felt a bit bad about putting you out like this."

“You’re not putting me out. I’ve slept down here tons of times,” Poe says, which is true — whenever his dad’s over, for one, and a couple of other times when he’s had guests.

“Still,” says Finn, and stares down at his hands. “Was thinkin’ you could come back up. We could, uh — could just talk a bit."

“Finn —"

“Just don’t want to spend my night alone, worrying about whether or not my agent’s gonna fire me."

“Hey,” says Poe, automatically protective.

“’s all right,” Finn says, though Poe gets the impression it’s not. “Cross that bridge when I get to it, right?” He stands up. “Would you mind, though? Comin’ up? Just for a bit?"

Poe sighs. Knows he shouldn’t, knows he’s just going to come out of this whole situation with a hard-on and tormented by vague sexual frustration, because Poe won’t let himself think about it long enough to clarify anything.

He glances over at BB8 — sound asleep, adorably so, in her crate — meaning he can’t drag her up as a chaperon. Perfect. He pushes the blanket he’s been using aside, and stands up.

“Sure,” he says, and follows Finn up the stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Why would I regret this?” Finn says, as if the answers are not plainly obvious._
> 
> _“Because….jumping into bed with a guy you barely know, when you’re in a bad place emotionally, just to feel something else is….never a_ great _idea.”_
> 
> _Not that Poe’s speaking from personal experience, or anything._
> 
>  _Well, at least not_ recent _personal experience._

“Don’t hate me,” says Finn, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Why would I hate you?” says Poe, who’s still at the door and suddenly certain he should stay there.

“I don’t — “ he takes a breath, deep and steadying, and then, all in a rush: “I don’t just want to talk to you. I want to—"

“Finn,” Poe says, catching on.  “Finn, this is — not a good idea." Wishes he sounded more confident than he does, forces himself to keep going. "You’ve been through a lot today, and I don’t think you’re — I don’t think you should just jump into this."

“I want you to fuck me,” says Finn.

“Look. I want to — I mean — of course I,” he looks at Finn, who’s perched attentively on Poe’s bed, all intent brown eyes and soft dark skin, chest broad beneath the white shirt he's borrowed, thick thighs casually spread. “Of course I want you. But I don’t want you to — I don’t want you to regret this, later."

“Why would I regret this?” Finn says, as if the answers are not plainly obvious.

“Because….jumping into bed with a guy you barely know, when you’re in a bad place emotionally, just to feel something else is….never a _great_ idea.”

Not that Poe’s speaking from personal experience, or anything.

Well, at least not  _recent_ personal experience.

“You’re not some guy I barely know,” says Finn, eminently logical, as he reaches down, peels his shirt off and over his head. “I know your friends love you. I know you’re kind, even when you shouldn’t be. I know you — want to take care of me,” he adds, before leaning off the bed, just enough to slide his tight, black boxer briefs down. And then hesitates, as if not sure what he’s supposed to do next. “I know you —“ he stops, gazes at him softly. “I know you like me."

“You’re killing me here, buddy,” Poe says, taking a breath. Runs his hand through his hair, decides to try a different tact. "This isn’t — this isn’t your last chance to be with a guy, Finn."

"I don't want to be with _a_ _guy_ ," says Finn, a little sharp. "I want to be with you."

Poe swallows. _It isn't your last chance to be with me, either_ , he wants to say, but knows he can't.

“Poe,” Finn says, soft, but it cuts through the room. Poe leans back against the door, and feels it click shut behind him.

“Yeah?"

“Tell me what to do."

 _Put your clothes back on and go to sleep_ , Poe should say. Would say, if he were half as good a person as everyone makes him out to be.

But he’s not a saint. He’s not an angel. He’s got a beautiful man in his bed, looking up at him like he’s hung the moon, and — well, he’s half hard and hasn’t gotten laid in over a year, and Finn is an adult who gets to make his own choices and reclaim his sexuality however he wants.

“Move back on the bed."

Finn does, immediately, scooting toward the center of the mattress in a way that’s almost comical and entirely adorable. “Should I lie down?"

“Not yet,” says Poe, walking toward him. Climbs on the bed, crawls over till he’s kneeling between Finn’s spread thighs. They’re face to face, and Finn’s breaths have already gotten sharp and shallow. “Finn,” he says.

Finn looks at him. His eyes are a rich dark brown, focused entirely on Poe, who realizes — in that moment, maybe for the first time —  the full, broad extent of this: he’s seen this face eight feet high, projected before hundreds of people, all of them rapt in attention as those beautiful warm eyes flashed with emotion, with courage and anger. With love, and fear.

But that isn’t Finn — the beam of light through a projector, the collection of pixels on a screen, the hundreds of billboards and sides of buses and subway ads Poe seems to pass all over the city these days. That's just an image, static and distant and predictable, a known quantity.

It isn’t _real_ , or at least, it isn’t _Finn_ , not really.

 _This_ is Finn: warm and intense and practically trembling with anticipation, trusting Poe so much that it fills him with an almost overwhelming sense of responsibility, pride, and terror, all at once.

“What’s wrong?” Finn says, and Poe shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says, and leans in. “Can I kiss you?"

Finn smiles at him. "You can do anything you want with me."

"I kinda wish you wouldn't say that," Poe says, reaching over to stroke at Finn's face.

Finn's smile fades and his eyes get serious and almost concerned. "I kinda wish it wasn't true," he says, soft, like it's a secret he's sharing with Poe.

Poe tries not to worry about that. He leans in instead, cradles Finn's head in his hands, presses their foreheads together.

"You can always say no," he says, letting his eyes drift shut, if only to be able to listen properly, to try and gauge Finn's quick, nervous breaths. "And you have to tell me if you don't like something."

"Poe..."

Poe pulls back, opening his eyes. Looks at Finn, makes sure Finn is looking at him. "I mean it, okay?" he says, serious as he can. Then tries to soften the moment, and attempts a smile. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Finn closes his eyes and tips his head up, just slightly, and parts his lips. Poe smiles, pressing his lips to Finn’s cheek.

Finn huffs, slightly annoyed, and Poe grins and darts in again, presses a kiss to Finn’s other cheek. Then his forehead. The tip of his nose. Dips down for the side of his throat, and then the the other. Waits till Finn whines before swooping in and catching Finn’s mouth with his own.

It’s a good kiss

Not the best they’ve had — not yet — but it helps ground Poe, helps assure him this is the right thing, right now. Finn’s wonderfully warm and enthusiastic, meeting each venture of Poe’s tongue into his mouth with a pleased sigh and a cautious exploration of his own.

His hands are clutching at Poe’s side, tangling themselves in Poe’s t-shirt. The rest of him is leaning up against Poe, chest to hips to thighs. Poe can feel his cock, hard and desperate, rutting impatiently against Poe’s left thigh.

Poe slips his hands up and down Finn’s chest — god it’s a rush, to be touching him, to feel his skin twitch and his breaths catch — and wraps one palm around Finn’s waist. Lets his other hand slide down further, fingers trailing through the coarse trail of hair.

Finn chokes and drops his head, sucking in a quick, unsteady gasp of air.

“Too much?” Poe says, easing his hand off of Finn’s hip.

Finn shakes his head, and licks his lips. “No, just — “ he takes another quick breath. “Just needed a minute."

Poe lets him have it, reaches his hand around the back of Finn’s neck. It’s the only place they’re touching, really — his thumb rubbing soothingly at the join between neck and shoulder — as they breathe together.

Finn’s hand slips around Poe’s other wrist, and guides it back closer, well in range to touch him again.

Poe smiles, getting the picture.

“When you’re with someone —" he starts, but no, he’s not going to go there. “When you touch yourself,” he says instead, low, still rubbing at the base of Finn’s neck, even as he runs his fingers careful up and down along Finn’s cock. “What do you like?"

“What do you — mm,” Finn gives a short, pleased hum, and shuts his eyes. “What do you mean?"

“Fast?” Poe says, quickening his pace. “Slow? Tight, or loose? Or wet —“ Finn’s cock jerks against his palm and Poe nods. “Okay. Got it,” he says, and turns around, leaning over to rummage through his nightstand.

Can hear Finn still panting, can feel his fingers sneaking past the edges of his shirt and against Poe’s chest. Turns back.

“Hi,” he says, and Finn grins at him — a little shaky, but still bright.

“Got that at the ready, do you?” he says, nodding toward the lube Poe’s coating his right hand with.

“Oh yeah, I jerk off a lot,” he says, sort of joking, sort of not.

“D’you think about me?”

Poe stills. Finn is looking at him, mouth slightly agape — he looks slightly mortified, mostly turned on, but still somewhat panicked. Poe inhales, deep, giving himself a moment. “I have,” he hedges.

Finn takes a breath of his own, which turns into a gasp as Poe wraps his hand around Finn’s cock again. “I think about you, sometimes,” he says, low and fraught with a strange sort of tension, like it’s something he feels he needs to confess, something he might even feel guilty about.

“What do you — what do you think about?” Poe says, forcing a kind of calm into his voice, trying to keep the rhythm of his strokes steady.

“That time at—“ Finn whines again. “Time at Snap and Karé’s place. Had me against the wall, I wanted you to — oh, fuck,” he says, and drops his head onto Poe’s shoulder.

“No no no,” Poe says, in a rush, and grips at the back of Finn’s head. “Look at me. Look at me."

Finn rolls his head back. “Why?” he practically whimpers.

 _Because I want to make sure you’re not freaking out_ , is the answer, but Poe’s trying not to be a buzzkill. “Because I want to see you,” he murmurs, and Finn smiles a little, even as his eyes begin to drift closed.

Poe keeps working his hand over Finn’s cock, twisting his wrist as he reaches the head. Finn’s breathing hard, making soft, desperate sounds, and closes his eyes again. Sways into Poe’s grip.

“Okay, okay,” Poe says, and pulls Finn closer, till they’re chest to chest and Finn’s panting into the side of Poe’s neck. “Talk to me. If I can’t see you, I need you to talk to me. How does that feel?"

“Good,” Finn mumbles, nosing at the curve between Poe’s neck and his shoulder. “Fuck, you smell good. Fuck, it—“ he’s panting harder now, barely even getting the words out — Poe rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock until it begins to leak. “Oh, _fuck_ , it feels good — feels so good, I can’t — Poe, I’m gonna — “ and he does, in thick, warm spurts, trembling in Poe’s arms, and moaning into Poe’s shoulder.

“Shh,” Poe says, soothing, fingers light on Finn’s cock as he works him through the orgasm. “It’s okay."

Finn chuckles, nuzzling at Poe’s throat. “Bit more than okay,” he mumbles, and Poe laughs.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t want to _presume_ , y’know?"

Finn snorts. “Presume away,” he sighs, and then, after he glances down. “Oh, Christ, all over your shirt."

“Don’t worry about it."

“You should take that off,” Finn says, and Poe drops his head, surveying the damage.

“Yeah,” he says, and then does — quickly, before he can think too hard about it, tossing his shirt onto the floor, then getting off the bed just long enough to push his sweatpants down and off as well.

Finn’s flopped down onto the bed in the meantime. Smiles up at Poe as he kneels between Finn’s thighs again. “Wow,” he says, looking Poe over.

Poe smiles a little and settles over him, bracing himself against the mattress, not letting his weight come to rest on Finn’s chest just yet.

Finn furrows his brow, and he hooks a finger on the chain around Poe’s neck, and follows it down to the gold ring hanging from it. “Is that a wedding ring?"

“It’s not mine,” says Poe, a little embarrassed to have forgotten he had it on and not entirely prepared to talk about it right now. He sits back, slips it off his neck, and drops it onto the night stand.

Leans over Finn again, and kisses him. It’s a cheap trick, but it works — Finn smiles against his lips and opens up to him, kissing him back. Much looser and more confident than before, which Poe appreciates.

Poe appreciates a lot about him, actually. How warm and solid he is, those soft happy sounds he makes. The way he’s running his fingers through Poe’s hair, and sucking on his tongue.

Poe pulls back for a moment. Finn looks up at him, and takes a long, steadying breath. He gets a look on his face — nervous, but focused, and more than a little curious. Poe keeps still, more than a little curious himself.

Finn’s fingers cease their exploration of Poe’s hair, trail down Poe's neck and chest and hip. Then Finn stops himself, glances at Poe’s face questioningly. “Can I—"

Poe nods, and inhales, carefully, as Finn’s fingers glance against his cock — he tries not to think of it as a moment of truth, doesn’t _really_ think Finn’ll bolt at the first contact and give this entire thing up as a failed experiment. But a part of him he’s not terribly proud of does wonder, at least until Finn’s fingers curl around his cock and give it a gentle, exploratory stroke.

“Jesus,” he says, and Poe takes a breath. “I’ve never—"

“I figured,” Poe says.

“It’s — different. From this side around.” Poe doesn’t quite manage to stifle a nervous laugh, and Finn looks up at his face. “What?"

“Nothing."

Finn frowns a little, but drags his fingers down Poe’s cock again. “You’re hard."

“Yeah, you’re, uh — you’re very attractive,” Poe manages, and Finn grins at that.

“You going to fuck me now?” he says, a little playful, but there’s a small, delicate tremor to it.

“Do you want me to?"

Finn raises his eyebrows, giving Poe a _look_ , before spreading his legs again.

“Well, if you say so,” Poe says, almost under his breath.

Reaches for the lube again, fumbling around the sheets for it. Finn's hand comes to rest on his hip in the meantime, and Poe looks up. "You okay?"

Finn nods, stroking his fingers along Poe’s side. Poe smiles to himself, and goes to coat his fingers with lube.

“Is it going to hurt?"

Poe looks up at him. “It shouldn’t,” he says. Makes sure to meet Finn’s eyes as he adds, “If it does — you’ve gotta tell me, okay?"

“Okay,” says Finn, soft, looking slightly amused, which Poe will take — Finn laughing at Poe's obvious concern is much better than Finn freaking out about what's about to happen because Poe’s making it seem like a bigger deal than it is.

In the end it’s really _not_ that big a deal — Finn squirms around Poe’s fingers as Poe prepares him, and pants even harder once Poe crooks his fingers. Poe smiles, pressing firmly against Finn's prostate until he’s hard again.

Finn whines a little when Poe pulls his fingers out, but settles quickly, staring up at the ceiling as his chest rises and falls, as Poe slips on a condom.

"Ready?" Poe says, easing over him again.

Finn looks at him — there’s still a spark of worry in his eyes, but he nods.

“Okay,” says Poe, lines himself up, and pushes in.

" _Oh_ ," Finn gasps, low and drawn out, back arching again as Poe bottoms out.

"Good oh?" Poe pants, practically gritting his teeth from the effort of staying still. “Bad oh? Help me out here, buddy."

Finn closes his eyes. “Oh,  _fuck,"_ he moans, clenching around Poe's cock, letting his hips make quick, jerky thrusts against him.

Poe lets out a shaky, breathless laugh, and drops his head to Finn's shoulder. Breathes in the scent of him for a moment, learning it, storing it away for the inevitable someday when he won’t have it anymore.

Finn is begging him to move — moaning into his ear, leaking against Poe’s stomach — and Poe is quick to comply. Slow and careful thrusts at first, building up to something rapid, bordering on a lack of control he can’t really allow himself. Stills his hips, mouths thoughtlessly at Finn’s collarbone.

Finn, for his part, nuzzles his nose into Poe’s hair and squirms beneath him, rubbing up against Poe's stomach, clenching tight around Poe’s cock.

Poe comes, pulsing desperately into the condom as he pushed back into Finn, harder than he’d like, but Finn doesn’t seem to mind — runs his hands down along Poe’s spine, and kisses his forehead.

They breathe together for a moment, chests brushing as they exhale, and then Poe notices Finn's cock is still hard, still twitching impatiently against his stomach. Reaches down, and takes him in hand — he’s still slick from before, and Poe’s hand slides easily around him, stroking him steadily, even as he pulls back, just enough to get a good look at him.

Finn’s eyelashes flutter, and Poe swallows a gasp of his own, shocked at the realization that he now knows what Finn Amadi looks like when he comes.

 _Yeah, you and any asshole with an internet connection,_ he finds himself thinking, and sobers instantly.

"What’s wrong?" says Finn, sounding beautifully hazy and exhausted.

"Nothing," Poe says, and leans over to kiss him again. Soft, and simple.

"Mm," hums Finn, once he pulls back. "You’re still inside of me."

"Can’t get anything by you," says Poe, and reaches down. Keeps hold on the condom as he pulls out, and notices Finn’s wince, small as it is. "Hey," he starts, but Finn shakes his head.

"'S all right," he says, and takes a breath. ""M all right."

Poe ties up the condom and leans over to drop it into the trash. Turns back, and rests his hand on Finn’s chest. Testing the waters, a little. Finn smiles and reaches over, presses his palm over Poe’s hand.

Poe lies down, and Finn curls up against him almost instantly, dropping an arm around Poe’s waist and resting his head on Poe’s shoulder.

A moment passes in near-silence as they catch their breaths, and then Finn exhales.

“Did you like that? I mean — was it good for you?"

“Yeah,” says Poe, nuzzling at the side of his head. “Yeah, it was good."

“I mean — is that how you usually — d’you usually — would you rather —"

“Finn,” says Poe, holding back a smile. “Are you trying to ask me if I usually top?"

Finn groans and buries his face into Poe’s chest — his cheeks are burning hot against Poe’s skin. Poe takes pity on him and pats his shoulder.

“It’s okay to ask,” he says. “It depends, for me. I’m flexible. Sometimes I like to…” he takes a breath, shifts a little, to wrap his arm properly around Finn’s back. “Sometimes I like to have someone on top of me, and inside of me, really just — with me. And sometimes I like to take care of someone. Make them feel good. Help them come,” his voice has lowered, though he hadn’t been trying to — start something. He feels Finn’s cock twitch against his leg, but they’re both too spent to let this go anywhere else.

So, they just kiss.

Long, and lazy, without any real goal in sight beyond keeping close to each other.

In that, at least, they succeed.

 

 

 

 

 

*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you?” he says, not quite looking at Poe, but leaning steadily into his side._
> 
> _“Am I what?"_
> 
> _“Happy?"_
> 
> _“Buddy…” Poe says, turning toward him. Finn mirrors him, leaving them face to face. Poe reaches out, cups Finn’s face in his hands. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” Finn smiles at him, and Poe leans over, presses a kiss to his forehead._

When he wakes up, it’s to Finn — shirtless at least, probably naked — sitting up, looking down at him, and casually running his fingers through Poe’s hair.

"Um," says Poe. “Good morning?"

“'morning," says Finn, smiling.  “You’ve cut your hair,” he adds.

“Oh, yeah, about a week ago," Poe says, and yawns. “My dad was in town. He prefers a high and tight, so — Compromise."

Finn's brows furrow. Poe laughs, sitting up. “It’s uh — like a military haircut. Like a buzz cut, with more up top.” He shrugs. “He’s a Marine."

“Huh,” says Finn, giving him another long look.

Poe runs his hand up along Finn’s side and Finn smiles, leaning over to drop a little kiss to Poe’s cheek. “What’s he like?"

“My dad?” Poe asks, and Finn nods. “He’s great. Just a really — good guy. Shovels snow for people, helps them with their cars. Carries groceries for old ladies. Loves fixing stuff around the house, real good at it too. Got the shower working here, for one."

Finn’s got this soft, fond look on his face. “You take after him."

“Eh, I don’t know about that,” says Poe. “I’m not as quiet. He’s the real strong and silent type, at least since—“ he stops himself, forces a smile. “I’m also not as handy.” Finn smirks a little, and Poe gives him a playful punch in the thigh. “Around the _house,_  I mean. I know my way around an engine, sort of, but other than that, man, I’m pretty useless with anything electrical, or with plumbing.” Finn’s still smiling at him, and Poe smiles back. “How about you? You any good at that stuff?"

Finn shrugs. “Lived alone for a bit, had to pick up a few things. My first couple of landlords were shit.” Poe laughs, and Finn grins at him. “Can stop a leak, at least. Won’t mess about with anything electrical, though. Don’t know a bloody thing about cars, either. Didn’t even learn to drive till last year, producers had to pay for it when I did _Momentum._ ”

“You’re such a city boy,” Poe teases, and Finn laughs, ducking his head.

“Still don’t own a car or anything. Guess if I move to LA it’d be worth it."

“So I’ve heard,” says Poe, who dated his fair share of stand up comedians when he first moved to New York and heard a _lot_ of material about it. “You like driving?"

“Not really,” Finn admits. “Came to it too late, I guess."

“My dad taught me when I was like — fifteen? I think it was the most stressful year of his life. Took out so much shrubbery, just kept backing right into it.” Finn snorts, and Poe throws him a quick grin. “Yeah, my dad made me replant them each time. You’d think that would’ve encouraged me to be more careful, but,” Poe shrugs. “Some things you gotta learn in your own time, I guess."

Finn seems to consider this — acts like it’s a great deal wiser than it really is, and Poe resists the knee-jerk impulse to self-deprecate and deflect.

“Can I ask you something else?” Finn says.

Poe smiles. “Anything."

“About your dad?

Poe blinks. “Okay?"

“Does he know? That you’re…” Finn waves a hand between them, looking more uncomfortable than Poe’d like.

“That I’m gay?” he clarifies, and Finn nods. “I mean, it’s not a secret — you’ve seen the flag outside." It’s still up, has been since June; at this point it feels too late to take it down, like if he did it now it’d Mean Something. Or maybe Poe’s just lazy and keeps forgetting. “But I never did a big coming out thing. I just...got a boyfriend when I was seventeen and I wasn’t gonna hide it, so...that was that."

“Is he all right with it?"

It takes Poe a surprisingly long time to shepherd his thoughts before answering. “Well,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip. “I don’t think he was thrilled. He’s a…the way he grew up, then bein’ in the Corps for so long, he wasn’t always surrounded by the most open-minded people. But…” Poe nods to himself. “But he loves me. And he wants me to be happy. And I think — he trusts me. To know who I am, and what _will_ make me happy.”

Finn thinks about this, nods again, and then shifts across the bed, till he’s shoulder to shoulder with Poe.

“Are you?” he says, not quite looking at Poe, but leaning steadily into his side.

“Am I what?"

“Happy?"

“Buddy…” Poe says, turning toward him. Finn mirrors him, leaving them face to face. Poe reaches out, cups Finn’s face in his hands. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” Finn smiles at him, and Poe leans over, presses a kiss to his forehead.

“How about you?” Poe says, as he pulls away. "Are you happy?"

“Gettin’ there,” says Finn, and leans in for another kiss.

*

Poe fully expects to spend the whole rest of the morning getting Finn _all_ the way there — in more ways then one — except that BB8 comes scratching at the bedroom door, barking up a storm. Clearly desperate to go out for a walk, and, well — Poe’s got to deal with that. He dresses quickly, willing down his hard on, as Finn smirks and lies back on the bed, stretched out across Poe’s cheap sheets, looking every bit like the movie star he is.

"You really know your angles," Poe says, leaning down for one quick _before-I-go_ kiss.

"Professional necessity," says Finn with a grin, reaching up and cupping Poe’s chin in his hand while they kiss. "Don't forget your ring," he adds, when they separate, because he clearly hasn’t. Poe gives an embarrassed chuckle — he’ll explain it to Finn later, it’s just really not the best time for it now — and grabs the chain from the nightstand before he goes.

BB8 is whiny and wiggly when Poe opens the door, weaving between Poe’s legs and nudging her head against Poe’s knees.

"What’s wrong, baby?" he says, patting her back—she’s usually not this nervous in the morning. Maybe it’s that she hasn’t seen him all night?

They’re halfway down to the first floor when he realizes that it's probably the first time he’s had a guy over since getting her. "You worried about getting a new daddy, baby?" he jokes, heading to the hall to retrieve her leash.

She'd usually follow him, jumping up and down in her eagerness, but she stays in the kitchen, whining at him. Poe frowns. "What’s up, Beebs?" he says, more concerned this time. She looks up at him, panting, and he kneels. Runs his hands over her tense body, and is only slightly relieved when she licks his face. She also doesn’t yelp at anything, and had been walking fine, but—

"Something wrong?"

Poe turns around. He’s still too worried to fully appreciate the image of Finn in a thin white T-shirt of Poe’s and the tight black boxer briefs he’d been wearing the night before, but he does manage a smile. "She’s just really nervous this morning," he says. "Maybe she’s pissed we got up so late."

"Maybe she's hungry?"

"Maybe," Poe says, though their usual routine is a quick, first thing walk, then breakfast, then another trip around the block right before Poe leaves for the shop. "You want some food, Beebs?"

BB8 gives him a strange, almost exasperated look, but her ears perk up once Poe pours some kibble in her bowl, and she chows down once he sets it on the floor for her. He looks over at Finn, and they exchange a smile. "Miracle worker," he says, and Finn snorts. "How about you? You hungry? I could swing by and get us somethin' while Bee and I are out."

Finn gives a noncommittal shrug and goes to open the refrigerator. "Could do that," he says, and glances back at Poe, and then away again, back at what’s in the fridge. "Or I could— could make you some eggs. While you’re out. Have it ready when you come back."

Poe holds back a grin, though he’s not sure why. Doesn’t want to come on too strong, is maybe slightly ashamed of how much charming he's always found it when someone cooks for him. "That would be nice," he says, simple and sincere.

"Right, then," says Finn, and shuts the refrigerator door. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do I look different?”

Poe stops, and considers him — isn’t sure the answer Finn wants, kind of resents the premise of the question — _will anyone be able to tell that I’ve engaged willingly in premeditated sex with a man_ is the most obvious subtext. But there _is_  something new about Finn this morning — maybe it’s just that Finn is clearly a morning person, but he’s all bright and loose and hopeful, today, in a way Poe’s never quite seen before.

Poe deflects. “Do you feel different?”

“A bit,” Finn says, playing at casual.

“Good different or bad different?”

Finn steps toward him, coming to a stop just a few inches away. Close enough that he can reach over and lay his hand on Poe’s chest. “I don’t know yet,” he says, looking Poe in the eye. “Maybe you could—”

That is, of course, when BB8 finishes her breakfast and resumes her impatient whining.

Finn and Poe share a nervous laugh and step away from each other.

"Duty calls," Poe says, clipping the leash to her collar. Grabs a plastic bag on the way down the hall, and is surprised to find Finn following him. He retrieves his jacket from a peg by the door, and Finn wordlessly takes hold of BB8's leash while Poe shrugs it on and goes to unlock the door. "Thanks," he says, taking the leash back once he's done. Smiles as their hands brush.

"Welcome," says Finn, and turns around, grabbing Poe’s scarf from the hook. Poe, hand still on the doorknob, ducks his head, and lets Finn wind the scarf around his neck. "There you go," Finn says, once he tucks the ends over each other. "Perfect," Finn says, not letting go of him yet, and Poe blushes a little — from the proximity, in anticipation of Finn pulling him in for another quick kiss — but then BB8 barks.

Poe jumps, and without thinking, jerks the door open. Just a little, barely a crack, but it’s enough for BB8 to lunge out, throwing the door open in process, and barking her head off as she goes.

Which is not, to be fair, an inappropriate reaction to the fifty or so photographers currently camping out on the sidewalk in front of the house.

A volley of flash bulbs and shutters go off and Poe, acting on instincts he didn’t know he still had, pushes Finn back into the hallway, tugs BB8 inside, and slams the door shut.

Finn looks utterly, painfully shocked, and Poe makes the mistake of reaching over to touch his shoulder. Finn blinks, jerking away.

“Shit," he says. "Shit, shit, _shit,_ I —"

"Finn —" Poe starts, but Finn turns and runs up the stairs. BB8 is still barking, scratching viciously at the door, and Poe unclips her leash, giving her the license to scamper into the living room and bay out the window as well.

Good enough for now, Poe finds himself thinking, running a nervous hand through his hair. Heads up the stairs, almost crashes into Finn — fully dressed — on the second floor landing. "Where’s my phone?" Finn says, sharp.

"What?"

"My phone, where’s my bloody — I need to call my manager, I need —"

"It’s in the kitchen," Poe remembers, and Finn swears again, pushing around him and clamoring down the stairs. Poe follows, calling out his name as they get down to the first floor, trying to at least tell him his sweater's on inside out, with the tag showing.

"Not _now,"_ Finn snaps, glaring at him, and then dropping his gaze, yanking his phone off the table and dialing. It rings once, and then there’s a cool, low voice on the other end. Poe can’t hear it well enough to be sure, but it sounds almost smug.

"No, right, yeah," Finn says, in response to what’s just been said. "Shoulda listened, obviously, I need—" he nods, shutting his eyes. "Yeah, thanks, I’m ready."

The call ends, and Finn slams the phone down again. Takes a breath, opens his eyes.

"Finn..." Poe tries again, keeping his distance this time, and Finn just shakes his head and drops his gaze.

"You should get a new bloody roommate," is all he says, and Poe bristles.

"Kylo wouldn't—"

"Oh, wouldn't he?" Finn sneers. "How else’s every bloody photographer in Manhattan on your doorstep this morning? You sayin' everyone just woke up today and said, I know where Finn Amadi's hanging out, that _one_ brownstone with a fucking rainbow flag out front, that’ll be the one, because of _all_ the pictures that I need—“

"Okay," Poe says, struggling to keep his voice even. "Okay, well, I'm sorry if my house is too gay for you to be seen here, but —“

“It’s not even your house! You just live here, you’ve got — not a bloody thing to lose. Could even be good for _you,_ good business, ‘go buy a boring book about New York from the guy that turned Finn Amadi.’”

“That’s not fair."

"Oh, you’re right about that, mate. It’s _not_ fair, not for you to stand there like this is— like this is _your_ bloody problem, when I’m the one that — This's all I've got. And you don’t— you and your rainbow flag and your nosy friends and your _kind_ father, you don’t get what it’s like to—“

"What, to be afraid? To hide who I am?” Poe says, incredulous. “You think I don’t get _that?_  Finn, I served under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. My dad's a Marine, my grandfather goes to _mass_ twice a week, you don’t — you don't think I spent years of my childhood terrified they’d never speak to me again when they found out?"

Finn's expression turns slightly guilty, and Poe knows he should stop, knows it's not the time to overshare and try to _win_ this.

But he can't help himself, somehow, finds it all pouring out when he _knows_ better, when there’s no way he isn’t making all of this worse. "Both of them — both of them thought being gay was just, having sex and dying young, they didn’t know it could be anything else. But they’re still in my life because they love me, because they were willing to learn and change their minds and I think a lot of people — a lot more people than you’d think — can do that, if they’re given a reason."

Finn snaps out of whatever guilt he’d been feeling and settles back into panicked rage, and Poe _knows_ that's what this is, knows he should be kinder about it, but Finn’s talking too fast and saying too much to let him.

"What would the reason here be? Some rich white executive is gonna have a bloody change of heart about a black man he already thinks is a drag at the box office, just because he’s got a gay sex scandal to deal with, too? They’re gonna feel _bad_ for me or something?"

Poe shakes his head, tries to take a breath, tries for patience. “No, look, I just think...maybe you need to change your perspective, here.”

“My _perspective_?”

“Look, I _get_ that this is bad. This _sucks_. Being outed sucks, being treated like this sucks. But this is one _day_ Finn, this is one news cycle, if that. Two hours from now the White House is going to do something crazy, something on twitter's going to go viral, millennials are going to kill something else off. You’re acting like this is the end of the world, but people are going to move on from this so, _so_ quickly.”

"You really think that. You really think that’s how all of this works."

“Finn—“

“No, all right, let me tell you how this’ll go. The video, the pictures, all of that, every time someone googles me, from now to the end of bloody time, that’ll show up. I’m going to die, and it’s gonna be a line in my bloody obituary. It’s already on my Wikipedia page. And being here? Being with you? Only adds fuel to that bloody fire. Everyone'll speculate about it. Next time I’m up for any action role? Any comedy? God forbid, any romance? It’ll be a whole bloody discussion with the producers, whether the audience — not just in America, not just in England— whether an _international audience_ 'll believe a black man can fire a fucking gun or make a joke or kiss a woman if he fucks blokes on the side."

Poe goes still. "Yeah, cause the only reason you’d come here — the only reason anyone would come to a gay man's house is to fuck blokes, right?"

“Poe—“

“Not because you were _friends_ with them or anything. Not because you needed somewhere to stay. The only thing you could ever do here is have all that gay sex everyone was already saying you’d had, just to like, get it out of the way. Is that what you thought?"

“It doesn’t matter what _I_ thought," says Finn. "It matters what they think," he points outside, where Poe can still hear the occasional clatter of cameras going off. "Matters what every straight white studio boss I’m ever going to have a meeting with again’s going to think.”

“It matters to other people, too," Poe realizes. 

Finn scoffs. "Yeah, I know, that’s the problem."

"No, I mean...you have something here that I’m never gonna have."

Finn huffs. "A whole career to lose?"

"An audience. An _international_ audience. People who love you, people who think you’re a badass. And yeah, some of them are gonna think — there’s jerks who’re gonna hate you for who you are, for who they think you are. But some of them — some of them are gonna say, y'know, I always liked him, he’s still pretty cool, maybe that means something, maybe I don’t have to treat the people in _my_ life like shit just because I think they’re gay. And there’s gonna be some kid — some kid like me or you, who's afraid of who he is, of what it means, of what his family and friends are going to think, who’s gonna look up and see that his hero — this big deal movie star that everyone loves — is just like him, and maybe he’ll be just a little less afraid, you know?"

"I’m not trying to be a symbol, Poe,” Finn says, suddenly quiet. "I’m just trying to survive this fucking industry."

"But that’s the thing, Finn. It’s an industry. It’s a job. You can be good at it, you can love it, you can love what it _brings_ you, but at the end of the day, it’s just a job. But people care about you — people that don’t even know you, they care about you, they care about what you have to say. You have a voice that the rest of us don’t have. And you’ve been given a chance to use it, a chance to be out there and make things better, even if it’s just for one person, even if it's just for that one kid, sitting at home, afraid of who he is. You have that chance, andI think you should take it.”

Finn looks at him for a moment, and then shakes his head. "I’m not even gay."

"I know that."

"I mean — I’m not even gay, I like women, I’ve always— liked women, it’s always been more women than men I look at."

"Finn—“

"I don’t need this, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t need to be out, I don’t need to — be a symbol of...anything."

"You’re right," says Poe. Something cold and tight settles in his chest, makes him feel like he’s choking. It keeps his voice steady, though. "You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be, and it really isn’t anyone else’s business."

"But you think I should _make it_ everyone else’s business."

"I think—" the doorbell rings, and they both jump.

"It’s some tall blonde lady!” Kylo, who’s been, Poe can admit, conspicuously absent so far, hollers from down the hall.

Finn glances down at his phone, and winces. "That’s my ride," he says, and Poe nods. Waves him down the hall — Finn hesitates for a moment, but starts walking to the door.

Poe follows him, and they’re both about halfway down the hall — Kylo's nowhere to be seen, must’ve disappeared upstairs again — when Finn reaches out, and grabs at Poe's wrist.

"You were saying something," he says, quick, almost desperate.

"What?"

"In the kitchen. You were saying something, you — you were telling me what you thought."

Poe looks around, mostly to avoid eye contact. They’re standing by the table, the one they’d bumped into months ago, when they’d first kissed. Finn’d dropped his bag there, disrupting the picture frames. One of them is still facedown, probably has been since then.

"I think if you’re going to keep it a secret," Poe says, in a voice he almost doesn’t recognize, something brittle and distant and cruel. "You should probably stop making out with men you meet at bookstores, and meeting their friends, and taking them out to dinner."

"Poe—“

"Just be more careful," he says, quieter, and wrenches the door open. Finn's manager is standing there — looking none too happy, but that’s not Poe’s problem, and he gives her a quick nod.

"See you around," he says to Finn, who's put on his sunglasses again and slipped out past him.

"Yeah," says Finn, head down. "See ya."

Poe shuts the door.

*

"So,” Poe says, deceptively calm as he sits down in front of Kylo. “Who talks first?"

Kylo cringes, but continues to stared down at his hands.

“Poe—"

“Oh, is it me? Okay, well: was it you?"

“Poe—"

“ _Was it?_ "

Kylo glances up at him, and sighs. “I may have — said something. On Reddit."

“Reddit?” Poe says, incredulous. “What did you—"

“Just — just that the whole video thing wasn’t like, consensual."

"How do you— how would you know that?" Kylo raises his eyebrows at him, and Poe groans, remembering. Drops his head into his hands. "Because I told you."

"And I wouldn’t even  have said anything, but you made _such_ a big deal about it, I figured you wouldn’t mind—“

"It’s not about whether _I’d_ mind!" he says, and then sighs. "How did they figure out he was here? Did you say something?"

“Yeah, that was —“ Kylo winces again. “I may’ve…started some shit. With some — loser, who was just —“ at Poe’s glare, he cuts himself off. “Okay. Well, I did a thing a while ago, like an AMA?"

“About _what_?"

“Being the son of a famous politician,” he says, like this should be obvious — hell maybe it should be, it's not as if Kylo’s got anything else worth talking about. Certainly not his _art_ career. “And some people uh — figured out it was me. And this place is like — in her name? Like, with property records? And your store has —"

“Oh my god,” he can’t help but say, about nothing in particular.

“And some girl had posted about running into Finn there, like, three months ago? And since he’s missing, and those picture were out —"

“Oh my _god_ ,” says Poe, and then, heartily. “I fucking hate the internet."

 

 

 

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really very sorry about this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Soon there's only the occasional furtive tourists, the ones who look up at him casually through their eyelashes and pretend they’re not taking a picture on their iPhones while handing him a magazine with Finn on it and asking him to ring it up. Trying to gauge his reaction, probably hoping he bursts into tears._
> 
> _Poe can deal with that._
> 
> _Poe can deal with a lot — the concerned looks from his friends, the expansive, wordless exchanges Kaz and Oddy keep having over his head. The steady, banal slide back into normalcy, which is a better outcome than he could’ve predicted, frankly._
> 
> _Poe can deal with it. And for the most part, he does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the movie version this chapter would be a montage scored with an on-the-nose [MIKA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-PuCaUQOFA) song or something but since it's a fic i had to write it all out :/

If Poe thought he hated the internet before, it’s got nothing on how much he hates the internet by the end of the week.

First off, there’s the pictures: Finn looking up at him, hands still twinned in Poe’s scarf, as Poe leans forward — making it look like he was going in for a kiss, not like BB8’s lunge out the door had thrown him off balance and tipped him into Finn’s space, which is what actually happened.

What’s worse, of course, is the way Finn’s looking at him: in the moment before he’d realized — in the moment before either of them had realized — Finn had grinned, probably laughing at Poe’s stumble, but it makes it seem like he’s eager to be kissed and excited to have Poe that close.

It doesn’t help that Finn’s in his underwear, and that his white t-shirt is thin enough that the flash of fifty or so cameras going off has rendered it almost transparent. But it comes off less salacious than it should, maybe just to Poe because he knows the context and remembers the moment. Something about the fact that he’s fully dressed by comparison, that they’re sharing a simple, domestic moment, that Poe was halfway out the door but also caught up in the rush it was to have Finn there.

It looks like they’re a couple. It looks like, Finn’d run straight to his secret boyfriend’s house at the first sign of trouble and hidden out there, falling right into a regular sort of routine they’d figured out a while ago.

It also doesn’t help that there’s a rainbow flag peaking into the frame of nearly every shot Poe sees — and he sees a lot of them, on Facebook, or in articles forwarded to him by people he hasn’t spoken to in years: the first round is breathless speculation about him, about his relationship with Finn, where they might’ve met, who he might be. His name’s easy enough to figure out, but since his social media presence is mostly his locked personal Facebook account and the shop’s page, they don’t get much at first, and Poe just has to deal with the flood of curious gawkers taking up space at the store.

Poe could probably afford to take a few days off while it all quiets down, but he’s not about to leave Kaz and Oddy to contend with the pushy, curious masses. He shows up, ignores all request for pictures — ends up in a couple anyway, isn’t sure what he can do about it — and institutes a fifteen minutes of lurking maximum via signs on the door and at the register.

Oddy asks him, in hushed, concerned tones, if that’s legal — Poe has no idea, knows it’s mostly unenforceable since he’s not tracking anyone that closely or keeping time — but Kaz takes it in stride, gently but firmly shooing people out the door and leaving Poe to ring up actual customers with as few interruptions as possible.

Two days pass, and the articles start being less _Here’s Everything We Know About Finn Amadi’s Alleged BF_ and more think pieces, half about whether it’s fair to be focusing on someone who's not even a public figure, the rest speculating about why Finn’s camp still hasn’t said anything. The attention dies down a little — Poe’s life goes from dodging reporters whenever he has to take BB8 out or walk to work, to mostly just feeling like someone’s watching his house at all times in case Finn comes back.

Poe can only imagine the mess it’s created for Finn’s team. He keeps getting calls from a number he doesn’t recognize, one with a 212 area code, which he always lets ring straight through. They never leave a message, and eventually Poe blocks the number.

*

The next day, Suralinda comes by the shop, shuts the door, and flips the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

“What are you—"

“You need to see this,” she says, and hands him her phone. Poe glances down, reads the first line, and jerks his head up.

“What is this?"

“A statement from Finn. Well, probably Finn’s PR person, but—"

Poe shakes his head and looks down again:

_When I was eighteen years old, I was put in a situation that is unfortunately common within this industry: I was taken advantage of by a man I knew, respected, and trusted. The video released without my consent last week is not only a reminder of that painful period but a significant violation of its own. On behalf of myself and other survivors of sexual abuse, I ask that the media stop perpetuating speculation that it was otherwise. I also ask for privacy and discretion in this difficult time: I remain in a committed relationship with a woman I love and respect dearly, and we hope to put this unfortunate incident behind us as soon as possible. God bless — Finn Amadi_

Poe hands the phone back to her. “Is this out yet?"

She shakes her head. “Probably within the hour. Everyone’s figuring out how to write it up. It's a major non-denial denial on his sexuality, but people are going to feel bad about calling that out, given everything else, so —"

“Okay,” he says, nods, and forces a smile. “Well. Can’t say I’ve ever been called an unfortunate incident before."

“He probably didn’t mean —"

Poe holds up his hand. “I know,” he says, because he does; this isn’t about him, not really. This is about Finn and whatever damage control his team thinks they need to do to save his career, and, well, they’re not wrong — Finn was taken advantage of. Being outed like that was a violation. Being forced to deal with something so personal and raw and complicated in public like this is brutal. He deserves the time and space to work through it, and he’s lucky to have someone by his side to help him do that. “Thanks for this,” he adds, because he is grateful for the notice, at least. “But I gotta get back to work."

“Is that a good idea?” she says, with a look that makes it _very_ clear that what she thinks about it, but Poe just shrugs.

“As good an idea as any,” he says, and goes to flip the sign back around.

*

It breaks fifteen minutes after she leaves — even merits a push notification from the New York Times app Poe really needs to delete from his phone — and does very little to calm the media shitstorm. It mostly shifts toward the kind of shallow introspection and self-flagellation that Poe associates with post-election hand wringing more than anything else, though, and honestly, that affects him less.

Soon there's only the occasional furtive tourists, the ones who look up at him casually through their eyelashes and pretend they’re _not_ taking a picture on their iPhones while handing him a magazine with Finn on it and asking him to ring it up. Trying to gauge his reaction, probably hoping he bursts into tears.

Poe can deal with that.

Poe can deal with a lot — the concerned looks from his friends, the expansive, wordless exchanges Kaz and Oddy keep having over his head. The steady, banal slide back into normalcy, which is a better outcome than he could’ve predicted, frankly.

Poe can deal with it. And for the most part, he does.

*

The steady trickle of voyeuristic tourists doesn’t cease, and after about two weeks, Poe closes up the shop, sends Kaz and Oddy home, and calls Rose to ask her to take BB8 out.

Runs out to get a bottle of red wine. Comes back with it, uncorks it with a pen knife, chugs a quick gulp straight from the bottle, and gets to work.

He empties an entire bookcase of travel guides, and piles them all on the floor. Replaces them with the boxes of books he’s been collecting for what feels like years — purchased in estate sales and online, left gathering dust in the basement while he figured out how to display them, how much of a section to make room for.

He doesn’t quite fill every shelf but there’s time, and there’s room, and he’s got a few contacts in the network of community holdouts: survivors, who'd taken it upon themselves to curate what people had left behind, preserve the stuff their families hadn’t wanted to take, who’ve taken care of it for decades now.

It’s past midnight but he doesn’t want to go home. Goes to the back office, prints out a sign, and tapes it up. Fishes out the label maker, too, replaces the peeling black on white labels he’d put up back when he’d first opened the shop with new ones: _in new york, history, activism, fiction._

Gathers up the rest of the travel guides into the newly free boxes, tucks them behind the desk for now — he and Oddy’ll work out where to put them, how to rearrange everything else if needed.

It’ll be fine, he thinks, and take a breath.

Takes another swig of wine.

More than fine, really. It’ll be great.

*

“Wow,” says Kaz, walking through the door. Glances over at Poe, who’s feeling hungover but still buzzing with excitement. “Have you been here all night?"

“Yeah,” says Poe. “What do you think?"

Kaz surveys QUEER INTEREST sign braced unsteadily above the shelf and looks over at Poe again. “I like it,” he says. “I like how it’s the first thing anyone’ll see when they walk through the front door."

“Oh, wow, didn’t even think of that,” Poe lies, badly.

“Let Oddy make you a better sign, though."

“What?"

“He’s good at stuff like that. Hand lettering and stuff. He and his wife are taking a class."

“ _What_?” Poe says again. “Seriously?"

Kaz shrugs, taking his coat off. “Check out his instagram."

Poe gapes. “Oddy has an _instagram_?”

Kaz grins. “I showed him how to set it up."

This is a lot of information for Poe to take in — the fact that Kaz and Oddy are apparently best friends forever now is maybe the least of it — and he’s still somewhat distracted by the fact when he realizes Kaz has come up to him, is standing directly in front of him. He reaches out, and lays a hand on Poe’s arm.

“Are you okay, boss?"

“I’m still a little drunk,” Poe admits, maybe only just realizing it. Kaz catches sight of the wine bottle next to him, blinks, then nods.

“Okay,” he says, and pats Poe’s arm. It’s nice — it’s really nice of him, and Poe wants to return the gesture, but isn’t sure it’s a good idea, isn’t sure how it’ll come off. Kaz is still talking, and Poe tries to focus on what he’s saying. “...I think you should probably go home, get some rest."

“No, Kaz, I can’t — I need to figure out where we’re gonna put everything from that shelf, move stuff around, I can’t —“

“You can,” says Kaz. “Oddy and I will take care of it. You can come back later if you want, but you’re not, you know — you need to get some rest."

It feels like all Poe gets lately is _rest,_ but he also can’t argue: he feels empty, right now, burnt up from the inside out.

“Okay,” he agrees, and goes.

*

Kaz and Oddy do take care of it.

Poe comes back to not just one but at least _twelve_ new signs, beautifully hand lettered, hanging over each of the sections of the shop. Oddy blushes a little when Poe compliments them all, saying _Wow_ with a hand over is chest, genuinely touched at all the work they’ve put in, not just putting up the signs but scrounging up a long, short shelf and setting it up in front of the counter, filling it with most of the travel guides Poe’d removed.

They’ve also moved the magazine racks, tucking them precisely out of view from the register. Poe doesn’t realize till he settles in for a morning on the register, and notices he can’t see Finn’s face at all.

It's a noble effort and much appreciate, but there's not much they can do when the billboard with Finn advertising a very expensive looking watch goes up down the block about a week later.

 _Well_ , Poe thinks to himself as he walks by it on his way home.  _At least he's still getting work_. 

*

Christmas comes and goes — neither Kaz nor Oddy celebrate, but Poe closes the shop and gives them time off anyway, figuring they need a break too. Heads upstate to spend the weekend with his dad and grandfather, both of whom are careful with him, forbearing the usual questions about his social life and teasing about the potential for grandchildren.

BB8 runs around in the snow covered fields, wearing the tartan jacket Poe’s dad bought for her, and Poe makes tamales with his grandfather.

He takes the train home on Monday with BB8 — who should be in her carrier — curled up in his lap, and unshed tears in his eyes.

*

But he’s fine, generally. January is cold as usual in the city, and Poe guilts Snap and Karé into letting him throw a post-holiday party in their apartment — he and Kylo are still not quite talking, so having it at home is out of the question. 

He invites Kaz, who comes alone, and Oddy, who brings his wife. They mesh well with the rest of the group, partaking in the discounted eggnog and latkes and a whole tupperware full of tamales Poe brought back with him. BB8 gleefully darts between everyone’s legs, begging for scraps of food, and smiling happy doggy smiles when anyone tries to take a picture of her wearing the antlers Kaz bought her. 

Poe’s always felt he was a good judge of people: has always felt proud to have known Suralinda, Jess, Snap, and Karé, has always felt Rose was like a little sister, has come to trust Kaz and Oddy and enjoy the days he spends with them, separately and together, in the store.

He loves them all so much.

He tells them so, at the end of the night, getting choked up as he thanks them for being in his life for yet another year.

When he goes home and curls up with BB8, he feels warm and happy and content. _Not a bad way to end a year_ , he thinks, and shuts his eyes, and lets out a long, steady breath. 

 _Not a bad way to start one, either_.

*

Three weeks later, Finn gets nominated for an Academy Award.

It’s somewhat unexpected, or so Poe gathers from the hushed discussion Rose, Suralinda, and Karé are having about it in the living room, clearly assuming he's too busy helping Snap set the table to hear.

Poe’s not a Hollywood expert, but he’s been to enough Oscar viewing parties to have picked up on the fact that science fiction movies rarely make the cut, especially ones released in the summer as fun blockbuster movies. Maybe it’s a pity nomination — Hollywood closing ranks around Finn, or proving how progressive they are in _not_ ostracizing him over refuted rumors. And it’s still a longshot, obviously — Finn’s first nomination, and he’s up against the Tom Hanks and Robert Downey, Jr.s of the world, and he hasn’t won any of the precursor awards. 

It’s none of Poe’s business, really. But a part of him — the better angel of his nature, maybe — still kind of hopes he wins.

*

“—and the Oscar goes to…” Brie Larson peels open the envelope, and then grins. “Finn Amadi, _Thursday Next!_ "

Snap, who definitely seems to regret bullying Poe into showing up to this year’s viewing party in case there was another _Moonlight-_ level upset, surges up, grabbing for the remote. “We can—"

“It’s fine,” Poe says, because it is. “It’s great," he has to add, because it is — it’s amazing, he’s so happy for Finn, it’s what he deserves, and it’s not like he hasn’t spent the past three months dealing with Finn’s face on ads all over the city and staring out at him from the magazine racks whenever he has to go stock them up.

Finn’s made his way to the stage by now, is trotting up the steps.  “Um, wow,” he says, blinking at the award in his hands, and then laughs. “ _Wow_. Christ this is — “ he shakes his head. “This is really bloody unexpected!” The audience laughs with him — in the palm of his hand, not that Poe blames them — and he grins again. “Right. Well, first off: thanks to Colin, for the opportunity —  and my agent, for gettin’ me in the room. And—“ he points back into the audience. “Thanks to Rey Kingsley, my very best friend, my partner in crime. Couldn’t’ve done it without you, love.” Poe can feel everyone in the room turn to look at him, and resolutely pretends he hasn’t noticed. So resolutely, that he almost misses the flicker of uncertainty in Finn’s features as he rolls the award around in his hands.

Finn takes a deep breath, and looks down at the podium in front of him. “Right," he says, and then lifts his head, looks out at the audience. "And while I’m up here…While I’m up here. A friend of mine — a dear friend of mine — said to me once, this, this acting thing — it can be just a job, right? You do the work, you can love the work, you do the best you can, but at the end of the day, ’s a job. And you can —“ the band starts playing, and he waves it down. “Sorry, just — look, it can be just a job, if you want it to be. But bein’ up here, gives us a voice others don’t have. And if you’ve got a shot at makin’ things better for just one person, you should take it. So as a—“ he grimaces, and then pushes through.

“As a queer man —“ there’s gasps in the audience, and the beginnings of applause, which he attempts to settle, waving it down. “As a queer man, I just wanna say to all of my brothers and sisters out there—“ he holds his hand out and waves at the stage behind him, the massive Academy Award statues. “I’m here!” the applause swells. “I made it! And you!” he points out at the crowd again. “All of you, any of you — you can too!” He brings his palm up to his mouth and then blows the kiss out to the audience. Leans into the microphone again. “God bless,” he says, grabs his statuette, and then walks off the stage without looking back.

“Well,” Snap says, weakly. “That was definitely better than _Moonlight_."

 

 

 

 

*


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Does he know I’m coming?” Poe feels like he has to ask, isn’t sure which answer would make him more nervous._
> 
> _Amy winces. “Sort of,” she says, and that would be it, that would be the most nerve wracking possibility._
> 
> _“Okay,” says Poe, fiddling with the pass around his neck. “What does that mean?"_
> 
> _“He knows there’s someone here to see him,” she says, and looks back at him. “He’s really nice."_
> 
> _“Yeah,” says Poe, trailing her down the hall. “Yeah, he can be.”_

It’s pouring down buckets when Rose comes rushing into the store, bumping into the table of new releases and knocking over the sign designated them so. She rights it automatically, and gallops up to the counter.

“Oh my god, Poe, have I got something for you. Something which will make you love me so much you'll want to hug me every single day for the rest of my life."

“Wow,” says Poe, finding it hard not to get swept up in her enthusiasm. “What’s that?"

She gives a cheerful little squeal, and hands over her phone. She’s got the youtube app open, to a video entitled, “Awkwafina & Finn Amadi Answer The Web’s Most Searched Questions | Wired.” Poe puts it down, and looks at her.

“Trust me,” she says, wonderfully earnest, and Poe sighs. Presses play.

It’s a few minutes into the video — about five minutes to the end, actually — and Finn is holding up the large white cards as Awkwafina peels off the white strips covering the questions up. Poe sees “Is Finn Amadi British?,” “What is Finn Amadi Famous For?,” and “Where Finn Amadi from?" have already been answered — they’ve got two to go.

“Is Finn Amadi….single?” she says, and Finn gives a rueful chuckle and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah, for a couple of months now,” he says.

Poe presses pause on the video, and looks up. “I already knew that,” because he did — there’d been an official announcement about it back in March, when Finn’d gone to film some period piece in Morocco. Rose rolls her eyes.

“Just keep watching,” she says, and presses play again.

“Not for long,” Awkwafina is teasing, pointing at Finn and then herself and wiggling her eyebrows. “If you _know_ what I _mean_."

Finn laughs, and holds up the cards again. She reaches out.

“Is Finn Amadi….” Awkwafina waits for a moment, apparently for dramatic effect, before pulling the small white strip of paper off. “Gay?"

Finn smiles a little — halfway between nervous and amused — and shakes his head. “Uh, no,” he says, and for a moment, seems like he’s going to leave it at that. Then shrugs. “Finn Amadi is bisexual."

“Right, right,” says Awkwafina. Looks to the camera. "It’s _kind of_ a different thing, y’all,” she points out, combatively droll.

They both seem content to leave it at that — Poe imagines most of this was if not scripted, at least planned for — but then Finn shakes his head. “I’ve loved women before, and I’ve loved men. And I’m open, right now, to whoever comes next."

“So you’re saying I’ve got a chance?”

“Oh, everyone’s got a chance,” Finn flirts back, leaning in as they grin at each other, and then throws an arm over the back of her neck.

“You heard it here first, ladies and gents and others,” she says, point at the camera. “You’ve all got a chance. _For now_."

“Cute,” Poe says, handing the phone back to Rose, who frowns.

“That’s not — oh my god, Poe. Poe, Suri says they shoot these in the Condé Nast building. That means he’s in New York."

“It…means he was in New York when they shot it."

“No,” she says, taking her phone back, googling something. “He’s here. He’s doing the Seth Meyers show today, and some of the morning shows tomorrow."

“Good for him."

Rose sighs, dramatically. “Poe, _come on_. You have to talk to him."

“I really don’t,” says Poe.

“You need closure, at _least_!"

“I’m fine.” Poe says, because he mostly is. He looks her straight in the eye, and takes her hands in his own. “Rose. I promise you. I’m fine."

Rose doesn’t seem convinced, but she sighs, throws up her hands, giving up.

Poe smiles a little. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says, and she huffs.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, as she’s out the door.

*

That night is Iolo’s welcome home party — he’s been gone over a year, working for a startup in San Francisco. Poe gets the feeling he kind of hated it, but the money was good and Iolo’s always been restless. He’s clearly glad to be back, is cheerfully pink already when Poe arrives at Snap and Karé’s, the way he always gets with even a drop of alcohol in him.

“Hey, buddy,” Poe says, holding back a laugh as Iolo throws an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close, gives Poe a loud, wet kiss to the cheek. He smells nice — citrusy and clean, like expensive fresh linen.

“Looking better than ever, Dameron,” he says, and pulls away.

“Good to see you too,” Poe says, and grins when Iolo blows him another kiss before bustling back into the kitchen, probably for another drink.

It goes well, as far as parties at Karé and Snap’s go — Snap’s managed to make a mostly edible salmon with only slightly runny mashed potatoes, and Karé’s serving everyone some crisp white sangria full of peach slices and sprigs of mint. Poe sits quietly and watches his friends — Jess and Suralinda in animated conversation, Karé and Iolo arguing about something just for the fun of it, and Snap, next to him on the couch, nudging his shoulder.

“Hm?"

“Are you okay?"

“I’m great,” he says.

“Happy Iolo’s back?"

“Mm,” says Poe, who is — Iolo’s always down to go out for dinner, always game to try new places. Also they have a reliable tendency of falling into bed together when they’re both single, so…that may just be the kind of distraction he needs, these days.

“Over the whole Finn thing, right?"

Poe turns to look at him. “Why?"

Snap shrugs. “A little birdie told me he’s in town. Well, in Queens. Filming something at Silver Cup."

“What little birdie?” says Poe.

“You remember Amy? She was in one of the mentoring programs for a while. Got an internship with the studio for the summer. I wrote her a recommendation and she called me this week to check in."

“Sure,” says Poe. “Sure, that — okay."

“I mean, I was just thinking, if you’re really fine, if you’re really over it, like you keep saying you are, then it wouldn’t hurt to go say hello, right? Show him there’s no hard feelings, y'know?"

Poe looks away for a moment, drops his face into his hands, and then shakes his head. “Oh, what the hell,” he says, and Snap reaches over and playfully ruffles his hair.

*

Snap drives him into Long Island City himself early the next day — apparently worried Poe will back out — and drops him off at the studio. A fresh-faced girl in box braids and a grey shirt  comes out to meet him. Waves at Snap, who gives her a quick, significant nod that Poe figures he isn’t supposed to notice.

Amy leads him into the building, handing him a visitor’s pass.

“Does he know I’m coming?” Poe feels like he has to ask, isn’t sure which answer would make him more nervous.

Amy winces. “Sort of,” she says, and that would be it, that would be the most nerve wracking possibility.

“Okay,” says Poe, fiddling with the pass around his neck. “What does that mean?"

“He knows there’s someone here to see him,” she says, and looks back at him. “He’s really nice."

“Yeah,” says Poe, trailing her down the hall. “Yeah, he can be.”

She knocks on a plain white door — Poe’s not sure what he expected, a bright gold star announcing his name or something — and after a moment, a voice calls out.

“They ready for me?"

“Ah, no,” says Amy. “I’ve got that uh — that guy who wants to see you?"

There’s a moment of silence, and then. “Right, right, bring him in.” Amy opens the door and ushers him in ahead of her.

Finn’s facing away from the door, dressed in a sharp, dark grey suit. He ducks his head as he gets out the chair he’s sitting in, and has fixed on a bright, cheerful _Meeting A Fan_ smile. It disappears the second he sees Poe, and he takes a breath, sharp and surprised.

And then he grins, broader than before, warm and excited. “Poe Dameron,” he says, a little breathlessly.

“That’s me,” Poe answers, strangely: nervous but no longer quite as terrified. “I’m sorry to — sorry to spring this on you, I—"

Finn laugh and runs up to him, wraps his arms around Poe. Poe’s too shocked to do anything but reciprocate, and smiles a little when Finn tucks his face into the side of Poe’s neck.

He hears the door shut behind them — Amy’s disappeared, apparently leaving them to it.

Poe takes a breath, a step back. Wants a little bit of distance, needs the space to be able to think. “I — I really am sorry to just — spring this on you, I just found out you were in town, yesterday, and Snap — knows Amy, and they set this up, I didn’t know you didn’t—"

“It's all right,” Finn says, sweet and sincere. “I'm glad you did. I wanted to call,” he says, apologetically. “So many times, I wanted to call, having behaved so — badly, twice. I just thought — just didn’t think you’d want to talk to me. But after the Oscars, especially, I wanted to — wanted to thank you. Then it all got so crazy, and…"

“I get it,” Poe says. “I wanted to call too, but I figured — you were still working stuff out. And then I heard you were in Marrakesh, and…” he lets out a nervous little breath. “It’s really good to see you. Your speech at the Oscars, it was — it was so much. It _meant_ so much, to a lot to people."

“Did it mean a lot to…” Finn takes a breath, and drops his gaze for a moment. Drums his fingers on the table beside him. “Did it mean anything to you?"

There’s a brisk knock on the door, and it swings open before Poe gets to answer. It’s Amy again, looking more worried. “They need you downstairs,” she says to Finn, who nods.

“Right. Right, I’ve got to —” he says, heading for the door, waving at Poe to follow him.

Poe does, through some grey hallways and down some glaringly lit stairs. “I get it, you know, I can—"

“It’s the last day of pickups, it’s not going well, but we have to — we’re supposed to be out of here by five."

They walk down another hall, and Amy informs whoever it is on the other end of her headset that they’re about two minutes away.

“Finn, I get it, it’s your job, you don’t have to—"

“Can you stay?” Finn says, as they turn a corner. He looks at Poe for a minute, and then away. “There’s...there are things to say. Things I need to say, I mean. Things I need to — say to you.”

They push through a swinging door labeled STAGE FOUR, and Poe finds himself staring at a massive sound stage pulsing with quiet, desperate activity.

Poe blinks. “Okay,” he says, after a pointless pause, as if he were ever going to say anything else.

Finn smiles again. Not as big as before, just as bright. “Get some coffee,” he says, reaching over. Touches the collar of Poe’s jacket for a moment, and then shakes his head, as if he’s not sure why he did. “There’s always lots of coffee."

*

There is indeed lots of coffee.

Also lots of snacks, at the far end of the freezing cold room, and lots of assistants bustling around looking terrified, and lots of lights that Poe can’t really believe Finn has to stand under, for so many hours a day.

Amy tracks him down, keeps him from wandering too close to the set, which is dressed like a fancy office, all dark wood furniture and rich red upholstery. She guides him toward a set of monitors, and hands Poe a set of headphones. “You can watch along, if you want,” she says, and Poe gives a grateful nod.

“What’s it about?” he asks.

“Oh, it’s like — Hamlet, but from Horatio’s perspective. And set in the modern day."

“Who’s Finn playing?"

“Horatio,” she says, with a smile.

“Oh,” says Poe, and finally puts the headphones on.

He doesn’t see Finn right away — he’s not on set yet, not showing up on the monitor — but he hears his voice. His accent’s gotten all clipped and polished, reminding Poe of old newsreels. Poe’s automatically drawn to movement in the corner of his eye — Finn shaking his head, seemingly deciding against that read, and looking over at the tall, red-haired man loitering next to him, a few feet from the set.

Another voice — cold and bored — comes through. “Could do with a bit more of that American ingenuity, eh?” says the redhead, nodding toward the camera, where a bunch of people seem to be huddled around, fiddling with the lens. “Though I suppose that’s what happens when you stop hiring actual Americans."

“I’m sure they’re doing the best they can,” says Finn, eyes still on the script in front of them.

“Yes,” he drawls. “Yes, I do believe they are."

“Could you do any better?” Finn says, pointedly, and the other man — Poe can’t quite place him, though he recognizes the voice, sort of — huffs. “Do you think I should ask to come in from the other side? So that when he —"

“Oh, forget about all that.” The redhead turns to Finn, and looks him over. “Who was that _dashing_ young fellow you were talking to?"

“When?"

“When you came in. The pretty one, with the curls.”

“Oh, just a bloke,” Finn says, flipping the pages of his script. “Met him a while ago. Dunno what he’s doing here, actually. Bit of an awkward situation."

“Didn’t look awkward,” comes the response, low and sly. “Looks a bit like that fellow everyone said you were shagging last year, actually."

“We weren’t shagging,” says Finn, sounding almost bored. “He’s a nice guy, just not my type. Wanted to let him down easy, y’know? But he just can _not_ catch on, apparently."

The redhead snorts. “Yes, that sounds like you,” he says. “Always—"

Poe takes the headphones off, and puts them down on the monitor. Swallows around the lump in his throat, nods to himself, and looks around — the door’s not far, he can probably make it out before anyone—

“Hey,” says Amy, trotting up to his side. “Where you going?"

“Family emergency,” Poe says, and cringes, will need to remind himself to knock on wood. “I’m just gonna — go grab the N."

“No, look, I’ll call—"

“Intern!” calls a busy looking man in a black turtleneck, and she makes a face. Poe shoos her off, and, while she’s distracted, ducks out the door.

Doesn’t think about it, doesn’t look back, and almost doesn’t realize how quick it all happened until he’s sitting on the N train heading back to Manhattan.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks to himself, drops his face to his hands, and exhales.

The train comes to a stop.

He looks up, and sees Finn staring at him from across the platform.

It’s a subway ad, obviously, part of the same campaign as the billboard by the shop: the same stark black and white aesthetic, but a slightly different shot. The same crisp waistcoat and white shirt beneath, but the vest is open and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. The sleek black watch on his wrist is all the more prominent for the rolled up sleeves.

 _It's Your Time_ , says the tagline.

 _Apparently fucking not_ , Poe thinks, as the doors of the train slide shut.

*

It’s a busy morning at the shop the next day, so much so that he has to join Kaz out on the floor, hustling people into an orderly line and dispensing as much book buying advice as he feels capable of at the moment.

It’s good, actually. Keeps his mind off things, for the time being. It’s almost disappointing when the crowds clear out after lunch, and he has to go back to his office and work on the budget again.

But it’s the nature of the beast, unfortunately.

He’s halfway to pulling his hair out when the phone rings. It’s Mr. Tekka, who’s eighty nine years old and one of the few people Poe’s willing to take phone orders from — sometimes he’ll even drop the books by himself, sure the man needs the company. Poe’s going through the new set of Taschen books they just got in when Oddy knocks on the door.

“What?” Poe mouths, covering the receiver.

“There’s someone here to see you,” he says, looking a little squirrely.

Poe, who doesn’t have time for this, sighs. “Tell them I’m busy.”

“I don’t — I really think you should take this."

Poe rolls his eyes, and uncovers the receiver. “Hi, Mr. Tekka, I’m going to hand you over to my associate for a sec, okay? I’ve got some sort of store emergency, apparently.”

“No problem, my boy,” comes the old, creaking response. “I’ve got all the time in the world!”

Well, that’s not going to come back to haunt Poe, or anything. He hands the phone over to Oddy and heads back to the floor. Almost knocks into Kaz in the process.

“I told him you were busy cooking the books,” he says, trotting behind Poe.

“Please don’t joke about that,” Poe says, with another sigh — he loves them both, but _oh my god_ , today is not the _day_ for this.

“Hey, boss, is now really the time for censorship?” sasses Kaz, and whatever response Poe might’ve made to that level of insubordination is swept away by the sudden, powerful realization that Finn Amadi is standing in the middle of his shop, looking more than slightly pissed.

“Ah,” Poe says. “Hi?"

“Hello,” Finn says, coolly.

They stare at each other, then Finn’s eyes flicker toward Kaz, who jumps.

“Right,” he says. “Right, I’m gonna — I’m gonna go. Help Oddy out."

Poe turns to tell him not to — Kaz’s as good as a chaperon as he’s going to get — but not fast enough, and calling him _back_ from the office would border on the too obvious. He takes a breath and turns back, facing Finn, who’s taken a step closer and is giving him one of those classic impenetrable Finn Amadi looks.

He’s about to speak when Finn does instead.

“Like what you've done with the place,” he says, nodding most obviously at the Queer Interest shelf.

“Yeah, well,” says Poe. “Was gettin’ all that extra attention, figured I might as well do something with it.”

Finn nods, ducking his head for a moment, before glancing back at the corridor where Kaz’s disappeared.

“Who was that?"

“Kaz? Uh, he’s been working here almost a year. He’s at NYU, or so he claims." Poe has some doubts — Kaz spends way too much time at the store, even when he’s not working, which Poe doesn’t find healthy but can’t really complain about, given how much he appreciates the company.

“He likes you."

“I mean, I’m his boss, so I bet he doesn’t like me that much."

Finn huffs and shakes his head. “He’s got a crush on you."

Poe has to roll his eyes. "He’s like, eighteen."

He’s actually nineteen, coming up on twenty, but to Poe it’s all the same.

"So?” says Finn.

"So, a) he doesn't and b) I don’t date teenagers," Poe says, maybe a little sharper than is merited, but Kaz's a _child,_ and Poe’s almost twice his age and more than halfway to settling into the confirmed bachelor life, for lack of better options and given his latest run of luck.

Finn still looks more than a little suspicious but it’s really not Poe’s responsibility to reassure him about it. "What are you doing here, Finn?" he says instead, stepping behind the counter, momentarily relishing the barrier between them.

Finn drops his gaze, and shrugs. "Dunno," he says. "You just left so quickly yesterday, didn’t know if it was — if it was something I said. Something I did. Beyond the obvious, I mean."

 _The obvious_ , Poe thinks, and sighs. "You were mic'ed. When you went off to talk to your buddy, you were mic’ed. One of the PAs gave me headphones, so I heard you."

Finn looks honestly, genuinely confused, but Poe’s not quite sure what to make of that — this is, after all, an Academy Award winning actor possibly bullshitting him. "You heard me...you heard me say what?"

"Uh, that I was just some guy? That you weren’t even sure why I was there, since you’d made it abundantly clear you weren’t interested. And I mean, you have, so that’s...fair."

"Poe, that was — that was just. Christ, no, that was — he’s the worst, all right? He’s a nosy git who’ll leak anything to the press if he’s in the wrong mood. I didn’t want — I didn’t want to bring you back into this, didn’t want you to end up with paparazzi on your doorstep again because of me."

“Finn, look, you don’t have to—"

"But I do have to! I have to...the reason I wanted to see you, wanted to talk to you in the first place, it’s the...it’s the bloody opposite of that. There’s so much...there’s so much I wanted to tell you."

“Okay,” Poe says, head spinning a little, still not sure what he’s saying. “So tell me."

Finn takes a breath. “Right. So the thing is, I know I was shit to you. I know I said — I know I was cruel.”

“You were freaking out,” Poe says, matter-of-fact — not really seeking to absolve him, but he’d been honest before, with Snap, with Rose: he’s mostly over it. He mostly understands.

Finn shakes his head. “It’s not an excuse. I was cruel to you. I lied to you, and I hurt you, and — you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry for it — more than I could ever say, really. And I’m — I’m headed back to England tomorrow. But If I wasn’t — I mean, if I stayed. I wondered if you’d…you’d let me see you a bit, or a lot, or — maybe just enough. Enough to make it up to you. Enough for you to like me again."

“I don’t not like you.”

Finn gives him an _oh, please_ sort of look.

Poe shrugs. “I mean it. You’re still — you. And I always liked you. As an actor. And as a person, mostly. More when you’re not in my kitchen yelling at me, but...."

"To be quite fair, as I recall, you did most of the yelling."

"To be _more_ fair, there was _no_ yelling, just some — sanctimonious lecturing. "

Finn laughs a little at that. It's still ridiculously charming. Poe finds himself smiling back, doesn’t do anything to stop it. "Why do you care if I like you, anyway?"

"Because I’m in love with you," Finn says, blowing all the wind out of Poe’s sails, destroying any kind of hope Poe might’ve had of salvaging this situation without heartbreak all around. "And I’m hoping...I was hoping that you’d feel the same. Not right now, I mean, I know right now you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but...someday."

"Finn—“

“Poe. Just — just listen to me, all right? If I’ve learned anything these past few months it’s that...my reputation, my career, all of that...It doesn’t matter. It’s a job, like you said. Could always get another, could always go back to theater — could do anythin’, really. But love isn’t like that, not really. You don’t get that many chances."

He says it so earnestly, like only a twenty-three year old who’s just discovered what may in fact be the one immutable fact of the universe could, that Poe almost wants to laugh, or possibly cry, or possibly both.

He sighs instead. “Finn,” he says, and takes a breath. “Finn, I am — I’m so, so flattered. And I get how much this means, I really do. For you to be here, for you to come say this. But can I just — can I just say no?"

Finn blinks. “I mean…of course. Right. Yeah, that’s — fine. It was good to see you, though?” pitched almost as a question, as he rambles on. “I’m glad you’re well. But I’ve got — I should get —"

“Finn,” says Poe, who in the end can’t help himself. "Finn, you — you're a good guy. I care for you, so much."

“Then…” Finn starts, suddenly hopeful, and it kills Poe, to have to burst that still forming bubble of light.

“But I can’t. Every time I'm with you, it starts out great, and then you _leave_ , and not just leave, but you always — you always have this trick of pulling the rug _right_ out from under me. What happened before, I could get over that — I _am_ over that. But the thing is, that was just one night. If we did this for real — for real, like a real relationship — I’d be in real danger. I fall in love too hard, too easy and with you it would — it would be a lot. It would be too much. I don’t know how I’d deal with it, if I was — if it didn’t work out, which… I’m ten years older than you, I'm the first guy you've dated, you’re basically _a god_ and I’m just — some guy you bumped into once, of course it’s not gonna — work out.”

“Poe,” Finn says, softly, but Poe shakes his head, has to get through this.

“You’re _everywhere,_ ” he says. “There's a billboard of you down the block _right now_. I’d see you, everywhere, and — I’d be fucked. Like, really, just fucked. I don't think I'd get over it. And that’s — “ he holds out his hand. “God, this is going to sound so dumb. I don’t think — I just don’t think it’s a good idea, to put myself in that position."

“Wow,” says Finn, staring. “Wow.That’s — that’s really a no, then."

“Finn—"

“No, it’s — right, that’s — very sensible of you. Good for — good, right,” Finn nods again. “Suppose I’ll be going then. Good to see you, as I said. Glad you’re — glad you’re well,” he says, then turns around, walks toward the door. Has just about reached it when he stops, and turns back.

“You know it doesn’t mean anything, right?” he says, waving around — at the magazines on the rack, the newspaper on Poe’s counter. “All of that. The fame, the papers, the billboard down the block. The — everyone knowin’ who I am thing. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. At the bottom of it — at solid bloody core of the thing — that’s not who I am. This,” he waves again, at his chest, and then at Poe. “This is who I am. Just a — just a kid from Brixton. Standin’ in a bookshop. Tellin’ the man I love — “ he makes a face, and shakes his head. “Tellin’ you, that I love you."

“Finn,” Poe says, feeling his resolve and his pride creaking at edges, on the verge of collapse.

“I heard you,” Finn says, soft and apologetic. “I get it. And I’m not— asking again. But I just — I just wanted you to know."

*

“And then he left?"

Poe nods.

“And you didn’t — you didn’t stop him?"

Poe shakes his head.

Snap lets out a long, low breath, and Karé, Suralinda, and Jess all exchange a look. Iolo, to his credit, gives a sympathetic nod. Rose soothingly pats his shoulder.

A moment passes in silence, and then Poe has to ask. “Did I fuck this up?"

“No!” they all say, in unison, much too quickly.

“He’s too good of an actor,” says Karé. “You could never trust him to be telling you the truth."

“Good. Great. Snap?"

“You could do better, buddy."

“Comforting,” says Poe, nodding to himself. “Comforting. What do you think, Iolo?"

“Never met him, never want to,” he says. “A fool to let you go in the first place, frankly."

“And I mean, you would know,” Poe says. “Anyone else? Suri?"

“I always kinda thought he was a jerk. And I was right.”

“Yeah,” says Jess. “Yeah, and he’s got terrible taste in cars.”

Poe wonders how that one came up, sincs Finn barely even drives, but realizes he doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t need to know any of this anymore.

Then he realizes: “Rose, you’ve been kinda quiet. What do you think?"

She pats him on the shoulder again, and then says, firmly: “I think you’re being an idiot."

“Hey!” says Karé, but Rose shakes her head.

“No, come on. He poured his _heart_ out to you. He wants to go _out_ with you! He _came out_ , in front of millions of people, _for you_."

"You don't know that."

" _Everybody_ knows that."

"Everybody does not know that," says Poe. "Finn coming out was his choice and his business and it took a lot of courage but it has — it has nothing to do with me."

Rose gives him a long, deeply unimpressed look. "He thinks you’re amazing," she says.

“He didn’t say —"

“He _looks_ at you like he can’t believe you're real. I mean I would — I would _die_ if someone looked at me like that. Have you even _noticed_?”

“He doesn’t — does he —“ he casts about, glancing from Snap to Karé to Jess to Suralinda and back again. Each and every one of them refuses to meet his eyes. He looks back at Rose. “Does he really…"

“Yes!” says Rose, as the rest of them nod sheepishly.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, but I wasn’t wrong. Maybe he loves me now, but...he’s twenty-three. When _I_ was twenty-three—"

“You were ready to get married,” says Suralinda, pointedly.

Poe winces. “I can’t believe you,” he says. “You’re always the one telling me to be more careful."

“True,” she says. “And I can’t believe that — the first time you take me up on it, the first time you _listen_ to me — I can’t believe it, but…I was wrong. I don’t think this is you staying away because you’re being smart. I think this is you _running_ away because you're _scared_. And that’s,” she says, and points at him. “That is  _not_ you, Poe Dameron."

“I’m scared all the time,” he says, a little flippantly.

“But you don’t let it stop you,” says Karé. “You don’t let it stop you from doing the right thing.”

“Is  _this_ the right thing? Getting involved with a guy who’s done nothing but mess me up from the start?”

“We’re not saying you marry the guy tomorrow,” says Snap. “We’re just saying..." he looks around, trying to get a sense of the room.

"We're just saying," chimes Jess, eminently logical. "You have never needed _six people_ to help talk you _out_ of a relationship before.”

Poe sits back. Sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he says. “Let’s try this again. Did I fuck this up?"

Silence, long and loaded, as they all exchange glances Poe pretends not to see.

And then, in unison, worn and exasperated, they all say: “ _Yes_."

Well, _fuck_.

 

 

 

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was between the [Autocomplete interviews](https://video.wired.com/series/google-autocomplete-inverviews) or the [Plays With Puppies While Answering Fan Quesions](https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=plays+with+puppies+while+answering+fan+questions) for the bit at the beginning of this chapter and couldn't figure out a way to make the puppy one work without it just being me describing the adorableness of puppies, BUT ANYWAY assume Finn does one of those too and quietly gushes over how cute a puppy that looks like BB8 is.
> 
> But anyway also assume Finn & Awkwafina are out promoting a netflix original romcom called _Bank on It_ or something.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The room is small but packed: rows after rows of journalists, photographers at the front, TV cameras at the back. Finn looks vastly less intimidated than Poe would be, but still slightly out of it, fiddling distractedly with his sunglasses, then hooking them impatiently on the collar of his shirt. He’s got Todd to the left of him, and an older, calm, dark-haired woman to the right. No sign of Phasma, which Poe — doesn’t have time to think about._
> 
>  
> 
> _It’s too crowded to get through, Poe thinks, looking around the edges — there’s cameras in the way, nothing he can do there._
> 
> _He looks back at Finn, and realizes: he’s wearing Poe’s jacket._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the other chapter that borrows the most directly from the film, perhaps to its detriment ~~does anyone aside from sports stars and jacob wohl do press conferences anymore? oh wells.~~

The problem is that after six months of everyone in Poe’s life knowing apparently intimate details of where Finn Amadi is and what he’s doing, that collective well of information has chosen today to dry the hell up.

Suralinda puts out a cautious, casual email to everyone she knows who might be on the Finn Amadi beat, but hears nothing back. Snap texts Amy: apparently they’d finished filming at Silver Cup the day before, and she has no idea where Finn’s staying now, or if he’s even stuck around and not flown right back to England.

A quick run down to the Crosby Street yields nothing, even with the good luck Poe has in spotting the clerk from almost a year ago, who recognizes him but won’t confirm whether Finn’s been staying there.

He slinks out and back toward the brownstone — it’s not the end of the world, he can track down Finn’s number, he can fly across the ocean if he needs to, he can figure this out. But the longer he waits the more doubts he’ll have, and maybe this is — maybe this is the universe’s way of telling him he should wait, he should be sensible, he should accept the fact that Finn is a god and he is a mortal and any attempt to brook that divide will only end in tragedy.

He’s well toward working himself into misery spiral when his phone starts ringing. He picks it up, not bothering to check who it is.

“Poe?” comes a familiar voice, though not one he’s talked to in a while.

“Yes?"

“This is C’ai Threnalli.” C’ai sounds like he’s calling from somewhere very crowded, possibly the airport. “Are you busy?"

“Uh,” says Poe, not even sure of the answer himself.

“Because I—“ there’s a long pause, a sigh, and then: “Oh, hell. I thought you might like to know, I’m at the Marriott Essex House, and Finn Amadi just walked in.”

Poe is — beyond speechless. Poe seriously considers sitting right down on the sidewalk, before his knees give out.

He doesn’t. “Where is that?” he says instead, already heading back toward Karé and Snap’s place.

“Central Park South. By Columbus Circle, next to the Plaza.” There’s a pause, and C’ai lowers his voice. “His management’s called a press conference, something big. Word on the ground is, he’s moving back to England and taking a break from acting."

“C’ai,” he says, voice cracking. “C’ai, that’s — god, thank you so much."

“You’re welcome,” he says, amused. “Call me when you get here. I think I can get you in."

*

Snap’s van screeches into the driveway of the Marriott, to the shock and obvious displeasure of the doorman. Poe’s all right with Snap et. al. handling that, clambers his way out of the backseat and makes a run for it. Sees C’ai at the other end of the lobby, waving broadly at him, and sprints across a very nice rug and around some very impatient, fancy people, before skidding across the shiny marble floor and into C’ais arms.

“God, you really are just cute as hell,” C’ai says, pulling him up into a standing position. 

“Thanks,” Poe says, struggling to catch his breath. “I try.”

“C’mon,” C’ai says, still laughing a little, and drags Poe into what feels like a vast labyrinth of green carpeted halls.

Quickly — almost too quickly — they reach the dark wood doors guarded by a serious looking man in a black suit and tie. “Can I help you…gentlemen?” he says, and Poe is — suddenly very aware of his rumpled pink button up and dark slacks, and C’ai’s whole messy professor air, with the wrinkled brown corduroy jacket, yellow polo shirt, and faded light blue dad jeans.

“We’re here for the press conference,” says C’ai, making as if to shoulder past the guard, who moves to block his way and holds out a hand.

“Are you accredited members of the press?"

“Are you serious?” says C’ai, and the guard just raises his eyebrows. C’ai gives an annoyed, impatient sigh, and fishes out his credentials from his pocket. “C’ai Thernalli, Washington Post,” he says, and the guard peers carefully at the laminated card, but nods C’ai in. Poe goes to follow him, and is stopped by a hand on his chest.

“What about you?"

“Excuse me?"

“What paper are you from?"

“He’s with us,” comes a voice from down the hall.

“Oh, and _you_ are?” says the guard, and then stops — Karé is fixing him with her coldest of looks, crossing her arms across her chest, and Suralinda is behind her, holding up _her_ press pass.

“We’re writing an article on how New York City luxury buildings treat wounded veterans,” she says, calm. 

C’ai nods. “They’re _all_ with me,” he says, with great confidence, and adds: "The Post is _very_ interested in this investigation."

The guard — Poe’s starting to feel a little sorry for him, actually — looks between the four of them, sighs, and steps back. “Go right ahead, folks,” he says, and opens the door. “I’m afraid you’re very late,” he says, as they all rush through.

*

The room is small but packed: rows after rows of journalists, photographers at the front, TV cameras at the back. Finn looks vastly less intimidated than Poe would be, but still slightly out of it, fiddling distractedly with his sunglasses, then hooking them impatiently on the collar of his shirt. He’s got Todd to the left of him, and an older, calm, dark-haired woman to the right. No sign of Phasma, which Poe — doesn’t have time to think about.

It’s too crowded to get through, Poe thinks, looking around the edges — there’s cameras in the way, nothing he can do there.

He looks back at Finn, and realizes: he’s wearing Poe’s jacket.

Poe takes in a long, deep breath, shakes his head, and starts pushing his way through the throng of reporters. Glances back only once to make sure Karé and C’ai and Suralinda are okay — they nod, waving him on.

The woman on Finn’s right is marshaling the questions, pointing at various people in the crowd. “Yes — yes, you, Dominique."

“How much longer are you staying in New York?” asks Dominique, who then gives a mildly irritated  _hmm_ noise as Poe eases past her, head down.

“Not time at all,” says Finn, sounding too tired to be anything but honest. “I leave tonight, thank god."

There’s a curious, slightly judgmental titter about that — Poe clocks it, gets it, a bunch of New Yorker reporters are obviously going to react that way, but he feels suddenly defensive of Finn over it, turns to look at him.

He’s frowning again, leaning over to whisper something in what Poe assumes is his PR manager's ear. “Ah, yeah,” she says, to Finn, and then to the room: "Which is why we have to round it up now. Final questions, please.”

She points at a man in a red turtleneck, who stands up and says, just loud enough to hear over the impatient din of the room: "Is your decision to take a year off anything to do with the rumours about Ms. Kingsley and her latest costar?"

“Absolutely not,” says Finn, a little sharp. “Rey is still a great friend of mine, and if she’s happy, I’m nothing but happy for her."

There’s another weird sort of murmur about that — maybe they don’t believe him — and Poe takes another step towards the front of the room.

PR Lady must notice the movement, because she looks right at him. Or so it feels, but she points to the reporter beside him, a sharply dressed man with a nose ring and an undercut, and Poe breathes a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, so, last time time you were here, there were some fairly graphic pictures of you and a local guy — so what happened there?"

“Two men talkin' to each other before one of them goes out to walk his dog? Your bar for _graphic_ 's really bloody low, mate," Finn says, sharp, and then shakes his head. “He's a nice guy who did me a big favor when I was in a bad place, and got you lot camping out on his doorstep for his trouble.” The PR manager shoots Finn a warning look. Finn sighs again, heavily. “What I mean is: we’re just friends — we’re still friends, I think. That’s it."

Poe's hand shoots up, without warning, without any kind of conscious input from Poe's brain. 

“Okay, right, you with the pink shirt,” says PR Lady, and points.

“Yeah, uh, Mr. Amadi,” he hears himself saying, can’t quite think or feel nervous or do anything but keep talking. “Going off of that, are there any circumstances in which you two might be more than just friends?"

Finn realizes who’s asking, and blinks. Even from this distance, Poe can see the glimmer of hope in his eyes, and then the quick, brutal way he shuts it down. “I had hoped there might be,” he says, tight and precise, a little cold. “But he doesn't think so, and I, of course, respect his wishes."

“And what would you say if—"

“No, sorry, one question per person,” says PR Lady, firm but not unkind. Finn puts his hand on her arm and shakes his head.

“No, let him — ask away. You were saying?” he adds, looking right at Poe.

“Yeah, I was just — was just wondering, if this guy—"

“His name is Dameron,” says the guy next to him, checking something on his phone. "Poe Dameron, I think?"

“Yeah, right, thank you. If Mr. Dameron were to — if he came to realize he’d been an idiot, and kind of a coward, and got down on his knees to beg you to change your mind, would you —“ Poe takes a breath. “Would you, in fact, change your mind?"

Finn swallows, visibly, and his lips twitch with the start of smile. His eyes are shining as they look at Poe, and Poe feels the moment when the room starts to turns, to look at him, starts trying to figure out what’s happening. Prays, quick and desperate, that they’ll give him enough time to get a real answer.

“Yes,” Finn says, after a moment, letting his smile come through in his voice. “Yes, I’m pretty sure I would."

Poe bites at his lower lip, and nods to himself, before speaking again. “That’s very good news,” he says. “I, uh — I know everyone over at Buzzfeed’ll be really happy to hear that."

Finn laughs, loud and relieved. Glances over to his left — Todd’s disappeared at some point, Poe has no idea when — and then to his right. He whispers in his PR manager’s ear again.

“What?” she says, and looks back at Poe. " _Really_?" she shakes her head, sighs, and points back at someone else. “Okay, fine. Dominique, ask your question again."

“Yeah?” Poe hears Dominique say, but can’t keep his eyes off of Finn, who’s still beaming at him, tapping impatiently at the table in front of him. “Okay. Sure. Finn, how long are you intending to stay here in New York?"

Finn leans forward, grins, and says, straight into the mic: “Indefinitely.”

*

Poe’s mobbed almost immediately, nearly blinded by the volley of flashbulbs going off around him. There's about a thousand questions being lobbed at him at once, and that’s just from the guy next to him. He keeps his mouth shut, keeps his eyes on Finn, who's still grinning at him, but who nods at Poe, gesturing toward his left.

Poe follows his gaze, and sees Todd breaking through the crowd toward him. Waits, ignoring the crush of reporters, as Todd pushes someone away and slips to Poe’s side, saying something Poe has no chance of hearing. Poe nods again anyway, and lets himself be guided out, trailing Todd, who’s managing to part the crowd of reporters like it’s the red sea.

They pass through a door and down the hall behind it. Quickly round a corner, and the noise drops out almost instantly, fades into distant hum of activity.

Poe barely has a chance to notice that before he’s being ushered through another door, this one leading to a room with a couch and a mirror and — Finn. Who’s on the other side of the room, then stepping closer, as Poe rushes to join him, and then they meet in the middle, and Poe’s not even sure where Todd is — where anyone is — almost even where he is.

The only thing he’s sure about is Finn, who’s against him, who’s thrown himself into Poe’s arms. Poe hugs him back, tucks his face into the side of Finn’s neck — takes in the scent of him, feels how fast he’s breathing, notices how that he’s shaking. 

Pulls back. “Are you—"

“I can’t believe you did that,” Finn says, and Poe can’t even tell if he’s angry or awed or what. “ _Why_ — why would you — why did you—?" 

“I don’t know,” Poe realizes, basically as he says it. Tries to come up with a better answer. “I was — I didn’t want you to leave. Or at least. I didn’t want you to leave without knowing that — knowing how I feel about you."

Finn inhales. “How do you...how do you feel about me?"

“I feel like you’re gonna end up being the best thing to ever happen to me,” Poe says, looking him straight in the eye. 

Finn — taken slightly aback — blinks and shakes his head. Speaks, soft and cautious: “What you said before,” he starts. “At the shop. You weren’t wrong. If it doesn’t work out — even if it does work out — it’ll be hard on you. Fame’ll do that to people, messes them up. Even the best people,” he smiles at Poe, soft and sad. “Especially the best people. So what you said before—"

“I meant it. I still — mean it. But —“ Poe shrugs. “I don’t care."

“Poe — "

“I love you,” he says, and then nods — it’s his first time saying it to Finn, the first time he’s let himself think it, really, but it feels true. Feels truer than just about anything else he’s ever said. “Yeah. I love you. Everything else is just details."

Finn presses his lips together, drops his gaze. Reaches up, as if to fiddle with the sunglasses he'd had on his collar but seems to have left behind. Chuckles to himself a little, and shakes his head.

Looks up again.

“Are we really doing this?” he says, staring at Poe, looking perhaps more nervous than Poe’s ever seen him, but smiling, somehow.

“We’re doing this,” says Poe, with a confidence he doesn’t entirely feel, but — but he reaches out, takes Finn’s hands in his own. “We’re really doing this,” he affirms. “And Finn?” he says.

“Yeah?” Finn's smile is shaky but bright, eyes glassy but then, suddenly — once they meet Poe’s — softer, and calm.

“This is going to work,” Poe promises, squeezes Finn’s hands, and leans in.

 

 

 

 

  
  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this is as a NaNoWriMo thing and didn't _quite_ finish it in time, but I FINISHED IT, and I enjoyed at least 51% of the process. I hope you enjoyed reading it at least that much, too. Please let me know what you thought, and tell me if I hit the Finn's sunglasses = Finn's stormtrooper helmet thing too hard, or perhaps not hard enough??
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> epilogue/some other background bits to come so: watch this space


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